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OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
EDWARD WILLIAM THOMSON
Old Man Savarin
Stories
Tales of Canada and Canadians
BY
EDWARD WILLIAM THOMSON
F.R.S.L. (United Kingdom)
F.R.S. (Canada)
ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES W. JEFFERYS
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1917
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA
TO
SIR A. T. QUILLER-COUCH
WHO
"GAVE ME THE GOOD WORD"
IN SEASON
I VE A FRIEND OVER THE SEA
My thanks are here due to Messrs. T. Y. Crowell
& Co., N. Y., for liberty to include in this volume sundry
stories from "Old Man Savarin"; to the American Bap-
tist Publication Society, Philadelphia, for liberty to in-
clude "Dour Davie's Drive," and "Petherick's Peril";
to the University Magazine, Montreal, for liberty to in-
clude "Miss Minnely's Management"; to the Century
Company, N. Y., for liberty to include "The Swartz
Diamond."
E. W. THOMSON
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CANADIAN ABROAD xiv
PRIVILEGE OF THE LIMITS 15
THE WATERLOO VETERAN 28
JOHN BEDELL, U.E. LOYALIST 38
OLD MAN SAVARIN 54
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 72
MCGRATH'S BAD NIGHT 90
SHINING CROSS OF RIGAUD 108
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE 121
PETHERICK'S PERIL 139
LITTLE BAPTISTE 158
RED-HEADED WINDEGO 180
THE RIDE BY NIGHT 197
"DRAFTED" 215
A TURKEY APIECE 235
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 252
Boss OF THE WORLD 283
Miss MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT. . . 313
ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR Frontispiece
PAGE
HE KNOCKED THE TWO OF THEM OVER WITH THE
POST 24
OLD JOHN MARCHED IN FULL REGIMENTALS 34
DEY'S FIGHT LIKE DAT FOR MORE AS FOUR HOURS . 60
WE STOOD LOOKING AT MY FATHER'S WHITE FACE.. 86
MY LEG IS BROKE 130
BACK AND FORWARD THEY DASHED 144
BAPTISTE AND JAWNNY LOOKED AT THE PLACE IN
THE WILDEST TERROR 190
ABSALOM SPRANG UP, STAGGERED, SHOUTED 210
OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
THE CANADIAN ABROAD
When the croon of a rapid is heard on the
breeze,
With the scent of a pine-forest gloom,
Or the edge of the sky is of steeple-top trees,
Set in hazes of blueberry bloom,
Or a song-sparrow sudden from quietness trills
His delicate anthem to me,
Then my heart hurries home to the Ottawa
hills,
Wherever I happen to be.
When the veils of a shining lake vista unfold,
Or the mist towers dim from a fall,
Or a woodland is blazing in crimson and gold,
Or a snow-shroud is covering all,
Or there's honking of geese in the darkening
sky,
When the spring sets hepatica free,
Then my heart's winging north as they never
can fly,
Wherever I happen to be.
When the swallows slant curves of bewildering
As the cool of the twilight descends,
And rosy-cheek maiden and hazel-hue boy
Listen grave while the Angelus ends
In a tremulous flow from the bell of a shrine,
Then a faraway mountain I see,
And my soul is in Canada's evening shine,
Wherever my body may be.
PRIVILEGE OF THE LIMITS
"YES, indeed, my grandfather wass once in
jail," said old Mrs. McTavish, of the county
of Glengarry, in Ontario, Canada; "but that
wass for debt, and he wass a ferry honest man
whateff er, and he would not broke his promise
— no, not for all the money in Canada. If you
will listen to me, I will tell chust exactly the
true story about that debt, to show you what
an honest man my grandfather wass.
"One time Tougal Stewart, him that wass
the poy's grandfather that keeps the same store
in Cornwall to this day, sold a plough to my
grandfather, and my grandfather said he
would pay half the plough in October, and the
other half whateffer time he felt able to pay
the money. Yes, indeed, that was the very
promise my grandfather gave.
"So he was at Tougal Stewart's store on the
first of October early in the morning pef ore the
shutters wass taken off, and he paid half chust
exactly to keep his word. Then the crop wass
15
16 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
ferry pad next year, and the year after that
one of his horses wass killed py lightning, and
the next year his brother, that wass not rich
and had a big family, died, and do you think
wass my grandfather to let the family be dis-
graced without a good funeral? No, indeed.
So my grandfather paid for the funeral, and
there was at it plenty of meat and drink for
eferypody, as wass the right Hielan' custom
those days; and after the funeral my grand-
father did not feel chust exactly able to pay
the other half for the plough that year either.
"So, then, Tougal Stewart met my grand-
father in Cornwall next day after the funeral,
and asked him if he had some money to spare.
'Wass you in need of help, Mr. Stewart?'
says my grandfather, kindly. 'For if it's in
any want you are, Tougal/ says my grand-
father, 'I will sell the coat off my back, if there
is no other way to lend you a loan'; for that
wass always the way of my grandfather with
all his friends, and a bigger-hearted man there
never wass in all Glengarry, or in Stormont,
or in Dundas, moreofer.
' 'In want !' says Tougal — 'in want, Mr.
McTavish!' says he, very high. 'Would you
wish to insult a gentleman, and him of the
PRIVILEGE OF THE LIMITS 17
name of Stewart, that's the name of princes
of the world?' he said, so he did.
"Seeing Tougal had his temper up, my
grandfather spoke softly, being a quiet, peace-
able man, and in wonder what he had said to
offend Tougal.
' 'Mr. Stewart,' says my grandfather, 'it
wass not in my mind to anger you whatefer.
Only I thought, from your asking me if I
had some money, that you might be looking
for a wee bit of a loan, as many a gentleman
has to do at times, and no shame to him at
all,' said my grandfather.
' 'A loan ?' says Tougal, sneering. 'A loan,
is it? Where's your memory, Mr. McTavish?
Are you not owing me half the price of the
plough you've had these three years?'
' 'And wass you asking me for money for
the other half of the plough?' says my grand-
father, very astonished.
' 'Just that,' says Tougal.
' 'Have you no shame or honor in you?'
says my grandfather, firing up. 'How could I
feel able to pay that now, and me chust yester-
day been giving my poor brother a funeral fit
for the McTavishes' own grand-nephew, that
wass as good chentleman's plood as any
18 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Stewart in Glengarry. You saw the expense
I wass at, for there you wass, and I thank you
for the politeness of coming, Mr. Stewart,'
says my grandfather, ending mild, for the
anger would never stay in him more than a
minute, so kind was the nature he had.
" 'If you can spend money on a funeral like
that, you can pay me for my plough/ says
Stewart; for with buying and selling he wass
become a poor creature, and the heart of a
Hielan'man wass half gone out of him, for all
he wass so proud of his name of monarchs and
kings.
"My grandfather had a mind to strike him
down on the spot, so he often said; but he
thought of the time when he hit Hamish
Cochrane in anger, and he minded the pen-
ances the priest put on him for breaking the
silly man's jaw with that blow, so he smothered
the heat that wass in him, and turned away
in scorn. With that Tougal Stewart went to
court, and sued my grandfather, puir mean
creature.
"You might think that Judge Jones — him
that wass judge in Cornwall before Judge
Jarvis that's dead — would do justice. But no,
.he made it the law that my grandfather must
PRIVILEGE OF THE LIMITS 19
pay at once, though Tougal Stewart could not
deny what the bargain wass.
'Your Honor,' says my grandfather, 'I
said I'd pay when I felt able. And do I feel
able now? No, I do not,' says he. It's a dis-
grace to Tougal Stewart to ask me, and him-
self telling you what the bargain wass,' said
my grandfather. But Judge Jones said that
he must pay, for all that he did not feel able.
' 'I will nefer pay one copper till I feel
able,' says my grandfather; 'but I'll keep my
Hielan' promise to my dying day, as I always
done,' says he.
"And with that the old judge laughed, and
said he would have to give judgment. And so
he did ; and after that Tougal Stewart got out
an execution. But not the worth of a handful
of oatmeal could the bailiff lay hands on, be-
cause my grandfather had chust exactly taken
the precaution to give a bill of sale on his gear
to his neighbor, Alexander Frazer, that could
be trusted to do what was right after the law
play was over.
"The whole settlement had great contempt
for Tougal Stewart's conduct; but he wass a
headstrong body, and once he begun to do
wrong against my grandfather, he held on, for
20 OLD MAN SAVARIN STOEIES
all that his trade fell away ; and finally he had
my grandfather arrested for debt, though
you'll understand, sir, that he was owing
Stewart nothing that he ought to pay when he
didn't feel able.
"In those times prisoners for debt wass taken
to jail in Cornwall, and if they had friends to
give bail that they would not go beyond the
posts that wass around the sixteen acres nearest
the jail walls, the prisoners could go where they
liked on that ground. This was called 'the
privilege of the limits.' The limits, you'll
understand, wass marked by cedar posts
painted white about the size of hitching-posts.
"The whole settlement wass ready to go bail
for my grandfather if he wanted it, and for the
health of him he needed to be in the open air,
and so he gave Tuncan Macdonnell of the
Greenfields, and ^Eneas Macdonald of the
Sandfields, for his bail, and he promised, on
his Hielan' word of honor, not to go beyond
the posts. With that he went where he pleased,
only taking care that he never put even the
toe of his foot beyond a post, for all that some
prisoners of the limits would chump ofer them
and back again, or maybe swing round them,
holding by their hands.
PRIVILEGE OF THE LIMITS 21
"Efery day the neighbors would go into
Cornwall to give my grandfather the good
word, and they would offer to pay Tougal
Stewart for the other half of the plough, only
that vexed my grandfather, for he wass too
proud to borrow, and, of course, every day
he felt less and less able to pay on account of
him having to hire a man to be doing the
spring ploughing and seeding and making the
kale-yard.
"All this time, you'll mind, Tougal Stewart
had to pay five shillings a week for my grand-
father's keep, the law being so that if the
debtor swore he had not five pounds' worth of
property to his name, then the creditor had to
pay the five shillings, and, of course, my grand-
father had nothing to his name after he gave
the bill of sale to Alexander Frazer. A great
diversion it was to my grandfather to be
reckoning up that if he lived as long as his
father, that was hale and strong at ninety-six,
Tougal would need to pay five or six hundred
pounds for him, and there was only two pound
five shillings to be paid on the plough.
"So it was like that all summer, my grand-
father keeping heartsome, with the neighbors
coming in so steady to bring him the news of
22 OLD MAN SAVAKIN STORIES
the settlement. There he would sit, just inside
one of the posts, for to pass his jokes, and tell
what he wished the family to be doing next.
This way it might have kept going on for
forty years, only it came about that my grand-
father's youngest child — him that was my
father — fell sick, and seemed like to die.
"Well, when my grandfather heard that bad
news, he wass in a terrible way, to be sure, for
he would be longing to hold the child in his
arms, so that his heart was sore and like to
break. Eat he could not, sleep he could not:
all night he would be groaning, and all day he
would be walking around by the posts, wishing
that he had not passed his Hielan' word of
honor not to go beyond a post ; for he thought
how he could have broken out like a chentle-
man, and gone to see his sick child, if he had
stayed inside the jail wall. So it went on three
days and three nights pefore the wise thought
came into my grandfather's head to show him
how he need not go beyond the posts to see his
little sick poy. With that he went straight to
one of the white cedar posts, and pulled it up
out of the hole, and started for home, taking
great care to carry it in his hands pefore him,
so he would not be beyond it one bit.
PRIVILEGE OF THE LIMITS 23
"My grandfather wass not half a mile out of
Cornwall, which was only a little place in those
days, when two of the turnkeys came after him.
" 'Stop, Mr. McTavish,' says the turnkeys.
" 'What for would I stop?' says my grand-
father.
" 'You have broke your bail/ says they.
" 'It's a lie for you,' says my grandfather,
for his temper flared up for anybody to say
he would broke his bail. 'Am I beyond the
post ?' says my grandfather.
"With that they run in on him, only that he
knocked the two of them over with the post,
and went on rejoicing, like an honest man
should, at keeping his word and overcoming
them that would slander his good name. The
only thing pesides thoughts of the child that
troubled him was questioning whether he had
been strictly right in turning round for to use
the post to defend himself in such a way that
it was nearer the jail than what he wass. But
when he remembered how the jailer never com-
plained of prisoners of the limits chumping
ofer the posts, if so they chumped back again
in a moment, the trouble went out of his
mind.
"Pretty soon after that he met Tuncan
24 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Macdonnell of Greenfields, coming into Corn-
wall with the wagon.
" 'And how is this, Glengatchie ?' says Tun-
can. 'For you were never the man to broke
your bail.'
"Glengatchie, you'll understand, sir, is the
name of my grandfather's farm.
" 'Never fear, Greenfields,' says my grand-
father, 'for I'm not beyond the post.'
"So Greenfields looked at the post, and he
looked at my grandfather, and he scratched his
head a wee, and he seen it was so; and then
he fell into a great admiration entirely.
' 'Get in with me, Glengatchie — it's proud
I'll be to carry you home'; and he turned his
team around. My grandfather did so, taking
great care to keep the post in front of him all
the time ; and that way he reached home. Out
comes my grandmother running to embrace
him; but she had to throw her arms around
the post and my grandfather's neck at the same
time, he was that strict to be within his promise.
Pefore going ben the house, he went to the
back end of the kale-yard which was farthest
from the jail, and there he stuck the post; and
then he went back to see his sick child, while
all the neighbors that came round was glad to
HE KNOCKED THE TWO OK THEM OVER
WITH THE POST
PRIVILEGE OF THE LIMITS 25
see what a wise thought the saints had put into
his mind to save his bail and his promise.
"So there he stayed a week till my father got
well. Of course the constables came after my
grandfather, but the settlement would not let
the creatures come within a mile of Glen-
gatchie. You might think, sir, that my grand-
father would have stayed with his wife and
weans, seeing the post was all the time in the
kale-yard, and him careful not to go beyond
it ; but he was putting the settlement to a great
deal of trouble day and night to keep the con-
stables off, and he was fearful that they might
take the post away, if ever they got to Glen-
gatchie, and give him the name of false, that
no McTavish ever had. So Tuncan Green-
fields and ^Eneas Sandfield drove my grand-
father back to the jail, him with the post behind
him in the wagon, so as he would be between
it and the jail. Of course Tougal Stewart
tried his best to have the bail declared for-
feited ; but old Judge Jones only laughed, and
said my grandfather was a Hielan' gentleman,
with a very nice sense of honor, and that was
chust exactly the truth.
"How did my grandfather get free in the
end? Oh, then, that was because of Tougal
26 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Stewart being careless — him that thought he
knew so much of the law. The law was, you
will mind, that Tougal had to pay five shillings
a week for keeping my grandfather in the
limits. The money wass to be paid efery
Monday, and it wass to be paid in lawful
money of Canada, too. Well, would you belief
that Tougal paid in four shillings in silver one
Monday, and one shilling in coppers, for he
took up the collection in church the day pefore,
and it wass not till Tougal had gone away that
the jailer saw that one of the coppers was a
Brock copper, — a medal, you will understand,
made at General Brock's death, and not lawful
money of Canada at all. With that the jailer
came out to my grandfather.
" 'Mr. McTavish,' says he, taking off his hat,
'you are a free man, and I'm glad of it.' Then
he told him what Tougal had done.
' *I hope you will not have any hard feelings
toward me, Mr. McTavish,' said the jailer;
and a decent man he wass, for all that there
wass not a drop of Hielan' blood in him. 'I
hope you will not think hard of me for not
being hospitable to you, sir,' says he; 'but it's
against the rules and regulations for the jailer
to be offering the best he can command to the
PRIVILEGE OF THE LIMITS 27
prisoners. Now that you are free, Mr. Mc-
Tavish,' says the jailer, 'I would be a proud
man if Mr. McTavish of Glengatchie would
do me the honor of taking supper with me this
night. I will be asking your leave to invite
some of the gentlemen of the place, if you will
say the word, Mr. McTavish,' says he.
"Well, my grandfather could never bear
malice, the kind man he was, and he seen how
bad the jailer felt, so he consented, and a great
company came in, to be sure, to celebrate the
occasion.
"Did my grandfather pay the balance on the
plough? What for should you suspicion, sir,
that my grandfather would refuse his honest
debt? Of course he paid for the plough, for
the crop was good that fall.
" 'I would be paying you the other half of
the plough now, Mr. Stewart,' says my grand-
father, coming in when the store was full.
" 'Hoich, but YOU are the honest McTavish !'
says Tougal, sneering.
"But my grandfather made no answer to
the creature, for he thought it would be unkind
to mention how Tougal had paid out six
pounds four shillings and eleven pence to keep
him in on account of a debt of two pound five
that never was due till it was paid."
THE WATERLOO VETERAN
Is Waterloo a dead word to you? the name
of a plain of battle, no more? Or do you
see, on a space of rising ground, the little long-
coated man with marble features, and un-
quenchable eyes that pierce through rolling
smoke to where the relics of the old Guard
of France stagger and rally and reach fiercely
again up the hill of St. Jean toward the
squares, set, torn, red, re-formed, stubborn,
mangled, victorious beneath the unflinching
will of him behind there, — the Iron Duke of
England?
Or is your interest in the fight literary? and
do you see in a pause of the conflict Major
O'Dowd sitting on the carcass of Pyramus
refreshing himself from that case-bottle of
sound brandy? George Osborne lying yonder,
all his fopperies ended, with a bullet through
his heart? Rawdon Crawley riding stolidly
behind General Tufto along the front of the
shattered regiment where Captain Dobbin
stands heartsick for poor Emily?
Or maybe the struggle arranges itself in
28
THE WATERLOO VETERAN 29
your vision around one figure not named in
history or fiction, — that of your grandfather,
or his father, or some old dead soldier of the
great wars whose blood you exult to inherit,
or some grim veteran whom you saw tottering
to the rollcall beyond when Queen Victoria was
young and you were a little boy.
For me the shadows of the battle are so
grouped round old John Locke that the his-
torians, story-tellers, and pafnters may never
quite persuade me that he was not the centre
and real hero of the action. The French
cuirassiers in my thought-pictures charge again
and again vainly against old John; he it is
who breaks the New Guard; upon the ground
that he defends the Emperor's eyes are fixed
all day long. It is John who occasionally
glances at the sky with wonder if Blucher has
failed them. Upon Shaw the Lifeguardsman,
and John, the Duke plainly most relies, and
the words that Wellington actually speaks
when the time comes for advance are, "Up,
John, and at them!"
How fate drifted the old veteran of Water-
loo into our little Canadian Lake Erie village
I never knew. Drifted him? No; he ever
marched as if under the orders of his com-
30 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
mander. Tall, thin, white-haired, close-shaven,
and always in knee-breeches and long stock-
ings, his was an antique and martial figure.
"Fresh white-fish" was his cry, which he de-
livered as if calling all the village to fall in
for drill.
So impressive was his demeanor that he dig-
nified his occupation. For years after he dis-
appeared, the peddling of white-fish by horse
and cart was regarded in that district as pecu-
liarly respectable. It was a glorious trade
when old John Locke held the steelyards and
served out the glittering fish with an air of
distributing ammunition for a long day's
combat.
I believe I noticed, on the first day I saw
him, how he tapped his left breast with a proud
gesture when he had done with a lot of cus-
tomers and was about to march again at the
head of his horse. That restored him from
trade to his soldiership — he had saluted his
Waterloo medal! There beneath his thread-
bare old blue coat it lay, always felt by the
heart of the hero.
"Why doesn't he wear it outside?" I once
asked.
"He used to," said my father; "till Hiram
THE WATERLOO VETERAN 31
Beaman, the druggist, asked him what he'd
'take for the bit of pewter.' '
"What did old John say, sir?"
" 'Take for the bit of pewter!' said he, look-
ing hard at Beaman with scorn. 'I've took
better men's lives nor ever yours was for to get
it, and I'd sell my own for it as quick as ever
I offered it before.'
' 'More fool you,' said Beaman.
" 'You're nowt,' said old John, very calm
and cold, 'you're nowt but walking dirt.' From
that day forth he would never sell Beaman a
fish ; he wouldn't touch his money."
It must have been late in 1854 or early in
1855 that I first saw the famous medal. Going
home from school on a bright winter afternoon,
I met old John walking very erect, without
his usual fish-supply. A dull round white spot
was clasped on the left breast of his coat.
"Mr. Locke," said the small boy, staring
with admiration, "is that your glorious Water-
loo medal?"
"You're a good little lad!" He stooped to
let me see the noble pewter. "War's declared
against Rooshia, and now it's right to show it.
The old regiment's sailed, and my only son is
with the colors."
32 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Then he took me by the hand and led me
into the village store, where the lawyer read
aloud the news from the paper that the veteran
gave him. In those days there was no railway
within fifty miles of us. It had chanced that
some fisherman brought old John a later paper
than any previously received in the village.
"Ay, but the Duke is gone," said he, shaking
his white head, "and it's curious to be fighting
on the same side with another Boney."
All that winter and the next, all the long
summer between, old John displayed his medal.
When the report of Alma came, his remarks
on the French failure to get into the fight
were severe. "What was they ever, at best,
without Boney?" he would inquire. But a
letter from his son after Inkermann changed
all that.
"Half of us was killed, and the rest of us
clean tired with fighting," wrote Corporal
Locke. "What with a bullet through the flesh
of my right leg, and the fatigue of using the
bayonet so long, I was like to drop. The Rus-
sians was coming on again as if there was no
end to them, when strange drums came sound-
ing in the mist behind us. With that we closed
up and faced half-round, thinking they had
THE WATERLOO VETERAN 33
outflanked us and the day was gone, so there
was nothing more to do but make out to die
hard, like the sons of Waterloo men. You
would have been pleased to see the looks of
what was left of the old regiment, father.
Then all of a sudden a French column came up
the rise out of the mist, screaming, 'Vive VEm-
pereur!3 their drums beating the charge. We
gave them room, for we were too dead tired to
go first. On they went like mad at the Rus-
sians, so that was the end of a hard morning's
work. I was down, — fainted with loss of blood,
—but I will soon be fit for duty again. When
I came to myself there was a Frenchman pour-
ing brandy down my throat, and talking in his
gibberish as kind as any Christian. Never a
word will I say agin them red-legged French
again."
"Show me the man that would!" growled
old John. "It was never in them French to
act cowardly. Didn't they beat all the world,
and even stand up many's the day agen our-
selves and the Duke? They didn't beat, — it
wouldn't be in reason, — but they tried brave
enough, and what more'd you ask of mortal
men?"
With the ending of the Crimean War our
34 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
village was illuminated. Rows of tallow
candles in every window, fireworks in a vacant
field, and a torchlight procession! Old John
marched at its head in full regimentals,
straight as a ramrod, the hero of the night.
His son had been promoted for bravery on the
field. After John came a dozen gray militia-
men of Queenston Heights, Lundy's Lane,
and Chippewa; next some forty volunteers of
'37. And we boys of the U. E. Loyalist settle-
ment cheered and cheered, thrilled with an in-
tense vague knowledge that the old army of
Wellington kept ghostly step with John, while
aerial trumpets and drums pealed and beat
with rejoicing at the fresh glory of the race
and the union of English-speaking men un-
consciously celebrated and symbolized by the
little rustic parade.
After that the old man again wore his medal
concealed. The Chinese War of 1857 was
too contemptible to celebrate by displaying his
badge of Waterloo.
Then came the dreadful tale of the Sepoy
mutiny — Meerut, Delhi, Cawnpore ! After the
tale of Nana Sahib's massacre of women and
children was read to old John he never smiled,
I think. Week after week, month after month,
OLD JOHN MARCHED IN FULL REGIMENTALS
THE WATERLOO VETERAN 35
as hideous tidings poured steadily in, his face
became more haggard, gray, and dreadful.
The feeling that he was too old for use seemed
to shame him. He no longer carried his head
high, as of yore. That his son was not march-
ing behind Havelock with the avenging army
seemed to cut our veteran sorely. Sergeant
Locke had sailed with the old regiment to join
Outram in Persia before the Sepoys broke
loose. It was at this time that old John was
first heard to say, "I'm 'feared something's
gone wrong with my heart."
Months went by before we learned that the
troops for Persia had been stopped on their
way and thrown into India against the muti-
neers. At that news old John marched into
the village with a prouder air than he had worn
for many a day. His medal was again on
his breast.
It was but the next month, I think, that the
village lawyer stood reading aloud the account
of the capture of a great Sepoy fort. The
veteran entered the post-office, and all made
way for him. The reading went on : —
"The blowing open of the Northern Gate
was the grandest personal exploit of the attack.
It was performed by native sappers, covered
36 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
by the fire of two regiments, and headed by
Lieutenants Holder and Dacre, Sergeants
Green, Carmody, Macpherson, and Locke."
The lawyer paused. Every eye turned to
the face of the old Waterloo soldier. He
straightened up to keener attention, threw out
his chest, and tapped the glorious medal in
salute of the names of the brave.
"God be praised, my son was there!" he
said. "Read on."
"Sergeant Carmody, while laying the
powder, was killed, and the native havildar
wounded. The powder having been laid, the
advance party slipped down into the ditch to
allow the firing party, under Lieutenant Dacre,
to do its duty. While trying to fire the charge
he was shot through one arm and leg. He
sank, but handed the match to Sergeant Mac-
pherson, who was at once shot dead. Sergeant
Locke, already wounded severely in the shoul-
der, then seized the match, and succeeded in
firing the train. He fell at that moment,
literally riddled with bullets."
"Read on," said old John, in a deeper voice.
All forbore to look twice upon his face.
"Others of the party were falling, when the
mighty gate was blown to fragments, and the
THE WATERLOO VETERAN 37
waiting regiments of infantry, under Colonel
Campbell, rushed into the breach."
There was a long silence in the post-office,
till old John spoke once more.
"The Lord God be thanked for all his deal-
ings with us! My son, Sergeant Locke, died
well for England, Queen, and Duty."
Nervously fingering the treasure on his
breast, the old soldier wheeled about, and
marched proudly straight down the middle of
the village street to his lonely cabin.
The villagers never saw him in life again.
Next day he did not appear. All refrained
from intruding on his mourning. But in the
evening, when the Anglican minister heard
of his parishioner's loss, he walked to old
John's home.
There, stretched upon his straw bed, he lay
in his antique regimentals, stiffer than At
Attention, all his medals fastened below that
of Waterloo above his quiet heart. His right
hand lay on an open Bible, and his face wore
an expression as of looking for ever and ever
upon Sergeant Locke and the Great Com-
mander who takes back unto Him the heroes
He fashions to sweeten the world.
JOHN BEDELL, U. E. LOYALIST1
"A EENEGADE! A rebel against his king!
A black-hearted traitor! You dare to tell me
that you love George Winthrop! Son of
canting, lying Ezra Winthrop ! By the Eter-
nal, I'll shoot him on sight if he comes this
side!"
While old John Bedell was speaking, he tore
and flung away a letter, reached for his long
rifle on its pins above the chimney-place,
dashed its butt angrily to the floor, and
poured powder into his palm.
"For Heaven's sake, father! You would
not! You could not! The war is over. It
would be murder!" cried Ruth Bedell, sob-
bing.
"Wouldn't I?" He poured the powder in.
"Yes, by gracious, quicker'n I'd kill a rattle-
snake!" He placed the round bullet on the
1 The United Empire Loyalists were American Tories who for-
sook their homes and property after the Revolution in' order to
live in Canada under the British "Flag. It is impossible to under-
stand Canadian feeling for the Crown at the present day without
understanding the U. E. Loyalist spirit, which, though Canadi-
ans are not now unfriendly to the United States, is still the
most important political force in the Dominion, and holds it
firmly in allegiance to the Crown.
38
JOHN BEDELL, U. E. LOYALIST 39
little square of greased rag at the muzzle of his
rifle. "A rank traitor — bone and blood of
those who drove out loyal men!" — he crowded
the tight lead home, dashed the ramrod into
place, looked to the flint. "Rest there, — wake
up for George Winthrop!" and the fierce old
man replaced rifle and powder-horn on their
pegs.
Bedell's hatred for the foes who had beaten
down King George's cause, and imposed the
alternative of confiscation or the oath of alle-
giance on the vanquished, was considered in-
tense, even by his brother Loyalists of the
Niagara frontier.
"The Squire kind o' sees his boys' blood
when the sky's red," said they in explanation.
But Bedell was so much an enthusiast that he
could almost rejoice because his three stark
sons had gained the prize of death in battle.
He was too brave to hate the fighting-men he
had so often confronted; but he abhorred the
politicians, especially the intimate civic enemies
on whom he had poured scorn before the armed
struggle began. More than any he hated Ezra
Winthrop, the lawyer, arch-revolutionist of
their native town, who had never used a
weapon but his tongue. And now his Ruth,
40 OLD MAN SAVAEJN STORIES
the beloved and only child left to his exiled
age, had confessed her love for Ezra Win-
throp's son! They had been boy and girl,
pretty maiden and bright stripling together,
without the Squire suspecting — he could not,
even now, -conceive clearly so wild a thing as
their affection! The confession burned in his
heart like veritable fire, — a raging anguish of
mingled loathing and love. He stood now
gazing at Ruth dumbly, his hands clenched,
head sometimes mechanically quivering, anger,
hate, love, grief, tumultuous in his soul.
Ruth glanced up — her father seemed about
to speak — she bowed again, shuddering as
though the coming words might kill. Still
there was silence, — a long silence. Bedell stood
motionless, poised, breathing hard — the silence
oppressed the girl — each moment her terror
increased — expectant attention became suffer-
ing that demanded his voice — and still was
silence — save for the dull roar of Niagara that
more and more pervaded the air. The torture
of waiting for the words — a curse against her,
she feared — overwore Ruth's endurance. She
looked up suddenly, and John Bedell saw in
hers the beloved eyes of his dead wife, shrink-
ing with intolerable fear. He groaned heavily,
JOHN BEDELL, U. E. LOYALIST 41
flung up his hands despairingly, and strode
out toward the river.
How crafty smooth the green Niagara
sweeps toward the plunge beneath that per-
petual white cloud above the Falls! From
Bedell's clearing below Navy Island, two miles
above the Falls, he could see the swaying and
rolling of the mist, ever rushing up to expand
and overhang. The terrible stream had a pro-
found fascination for him, with its racing eddies
eating at the shore; its long weeds, visible
through the clear water, trailing close down to
the bottom; its inexorable, eternal, onward
pouring. Because it was so mighty and so
threatening, he rejoiced grimly in the awful
river. To float, watching cracks and ledges of
its flat bottom-rock drift quickly upward; to
bend to his oars only when white crests of the
rapids yelled for his life; to win escape by
sheer strength from points so low down that he
sometimes doubted but the greedy forces had
been tempted too long ; to stake his life, watch-
ing tree-tops for a sign that he could yet save
it, was the dreadful pastime by which Bedell
often quelled passionate promptings to re-
venge his exile. "The Falls is bound to get
the Squire, some day," said the banished set-
42 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
tiers. But the Squire's skiff was clean built
as a pickerel, and his old arms iron-strong.
Now when he had gone forth from the beloved
child, who seemed to him so traitorous to his
love and all loyalty, he went instinctively to
spend his rage upon the river.
Ruth Bedell, gazing at the loaded rifle, shud-
dered, not with dread only, but a sense of hav-
ing been treacherous to her father. She had
not told him all the truth. George Winthrop
himself, having made his way secretly through
the forest from Lake Ontario, had given her
his own letter asking leave from the Squire to
visit his newly made cabin. From the moment
of arrival her lover had implored her to fly
with him. But filial love was strong in Ruth
to give hope that her father would yield to the
yet stronger affection freshened in her heart.
Believing their union might be permitted, she
had pledged herself to escape with her lover if
it were forbidden. Now he waited by the hick-
ory wood for a signal to conceal himself or
come forward.
When Ruth saw her father far down the
river, she stepped to the flagstaff he had raised
before building the cabin — his first duty being
to hoist the Union Jack! It was the largest
JOHN BEDELL, U. E. LOYALIST 43
flag he could procure; he could see it flying
defiantly all day long; at night he could hear
its glorious folds whipping in the wind ; the hot
old Loyalist loved to fancy his foeman cursing
at it from the other side, nearly three miles
away. Ruth hauled the flag down a little, then
ran it up to the mast-head again.
At that, a tall young fellow came springing
into the clearing, jumping exultantly over
brush-heaps and tree-trunks, his queue wag-
gling, his eyes bright, glad, under his three-cor-
nered hat. Joying that her father had yielded,
he ran forward till he saw Ruth's tears.
"What, sweetheart! — crying? It was the
signal to come on," cried he.
"Yes; to see you sooner, George. Father
is out yonder. But no, he will never, never
consent."
"Then you will come with me, love," he said,
taking her hands.
"No, no ; I dare not," sobbed Ruth. "Father
would overtake us. He swears to shoot you on
sight! Go, George! Escape while you can!
Oh, if he should find you here I"
"But, darling love, we need not fear. We
can escape easily. I know the forest path.
But — " Then he thought how weak her pace.
44 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"We might cross here before he could come
up!" cried Winthrop, looking toward where
the Squire's boat was now a distant blotch.
"No, no," wailed Ruth, yet yielding to his
embrace. "This is the last time I shall see you
forever and forever. Go, dear, — good-bye, my
love, my love."
But he clasped her in his strong arms, kiss-
ing, imploring, cheering her, — and how should
true love choose hopeless renunciation?
Tempting, defying, regaining his lost
ground, drifting down again, trying hard to
tire out and subdue his heart-pangs, Bedell dal-
lied with death more closely than ever. He had
let his skiff drift far down toward the Falls.
Often he could see the wide smooth curve where
the green volume first lapses vastly on a lazy
slope, to shoulder up below as a huge calm bil-
low, before pitching into the madness of waves
whose confusion of tossing and tortured crests
hurries to the abyss. The afternoon grew to-
ward evening before he pulled steadily home,
crawling away from the roarers against the
cruel green, watching the ominous cloud with
some such grim humor as if under observation
by an overpowering but baffled enemy.
JOHN BEDELL, U. E. LOYALIST 45
Approaching his landing, a shout drew Be-
dell's glance ashore to a group of men excitedly
gesticulating. They seemed motioning him to
watch the American shore. Turning, he saw a
boat in midstream, where no craft then on the
river, except his own skiff, could be safe, unless
manned by several good men. Only two oars
were flashing. Bedell could make out two fig-
ures indistinctly. It was clear they were
doomed, — though still a full mile above the
point whence he had come, they were much far-
ther out than he when near the rapids. Yet
one life might be saved! Instantly Bedell's
bow turned outward, and cheers flung to him
from ashore.
At that moment he looked to his own land-
ing-place, and saw that his larger boat was
gone. Turning again, he angrily recognized
it, but kept right on — he must try to rescue
even a thief. He wondered Ruth had not pre-
vented the theft, but had no suspicion of the
truth. Always he had refused to let her go out
upon the river — mortally fearing it for her.
Thrusting his skiff mightily forward, — often
it glanced, half -whirled by up-whelming and
spreading spaces of water, — the old Loyalist's
heart was quit of his pangs, and sore only with
46 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
certainty that he must abandon one human soul
to death. By the time that he could reach the
larger boat his would be too near the rapids for
escape with three !
When George Winthrop saw Bedell in pur-
suit, he bent to his ash-blades more strongly,
and Ruth, trembling to remember her father's
threats, urged her lover to speed. They feared
the pursuer only, quite unconscious that they
were in the remorseless grasp of the river.
Ruth had so often seen her father far lower
down than they had yet drifted that she did not
realize the truth, and George, a stranger in the
Niagara district, was unaware of the length of
the cataracts above the Falls. He was also
deceived by the stream's treacherous smooth-
ness, and instead of half-upward, pulled
straight across, as if certainly able to land any-
where he might touch the American shore.
Bedell looked over his shoulder often. When
he distinguished a woman, he put on more
force, but slackened soon — the pull home would
tax his endurance, he reflected. In some sort
it was a relief to know that one was a woman ;
he had been anticipating trouble with two men
equally bent on being saved. That the man
would abandon himself bravely, the Squire
JOHN BEDELL, U. E. LOYALIST 47
took as a matter of course. For a while he
thought of pulling with the woman to the
American shore, more easily to be gained from
the point where the rescue must occur. But
he rejected the plan, confident he could win
back, for he had sworn never to set foot on that
soil unless in war. Had it been possible to save
both, he would have been forced to disregard
that vow; but the Squire knew that it was im-
possible for him to reach the New York shore
with two passengers — two would overload his
boat beyond escape. Man or woman — one
must go over the Falls.
Having carefully studied landmarks for his
position, Bedell turned to look again at the
doomed boat, and a well-known ribbon caught
his attention! The old man dropped his oars,
confused with horror. "My God, my God! it's
Ruth !" he cried, and the whole truth came with
another look, for he had not forgotten George
Winthrop.
"Your father stops, Ruth. Perhaps he is in
pain," said George to the quaking girl.
She looked back. "What can it be?" she
cried, filial love returning overmasteringly.
"Perhaps he is only tired." George affected
carelessness, — his first wish was to secure his
48 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
bride, — and pulled hard away to get all. advan-
tage from Bedell's halt.
"Tired ! He is in danger of the Falls, then !"
screamed Ruth. "Stop! Turn! Back to him!"
Winthrop instantly prepared to obey. "Yes,
darling," he said, "we must not think of our-
selves. We must go back to save him!" Yet
his was a sore groan at turning; what Duty
ordered was so hard, — he must give up his love
for the sake of his enemy.
But while Winthrop was still pulling round,
the old Loyalist resumed rowing, with a more
rapid stroke that soon brought him alongside.
In those moments of waiting, all Bedell's life,
his personal hatreds, his loves, his sorrows, had
been reviewed before his soul. He had seen
again his sons, the slain in battle, in the pride
of their young might; and the gentle eyes of
Ruth had pleaded with him beneath his dead
wife's brow. Into those beloved, unforgotten,
visionary eyes he looked with an encouraging,
strengthening gaze, — now that the deed to be
done was as clear before him as the face of
Almighty God. In accepting it the darker pas-
sions that had swayed his stormy life fell sud-
denly away from their hold on his soul. How
trivial had been old disputes ! how good at heart
JOHN BEDELL, U. E. LOYALIST 49
old well-known civic enemies ! how poor seemed
hate ! how mean and poor seemed all but Love
and Loyalty!
Resolution and deep peace had come upon
the man.
The lovers wondered at his look. No wrath
was there. The old eyes were calm and cheer-
ful, a gentle smile flickered about his lips. Only
that he was very pale, Ruth would have been
wholly glad for the happy change.
"Forgive me, father," she cried, as he laid
hand on their boat.
"I do, my child," he answered. "Come now
without an instant's delay to me."
"Oh, father, if you would let us be happy!"
cried Ruth, heart-torn by two loves.
"Dear, you shall be happy. I was wrong,
child ; I did not understand how you loved him.
But come ! You hesitate ! Winthrop, my son,
you are in some danger. Into this boat in-
stantly! both of you! Take the oars, George.
Kiss me, dear, my Ruth, once more. Good-
bye, my little girl. Winthrop, be good to her.
And may God bless you both forever!"
As the old Squire spoke, he stepped into the
larger boat, instantly releasing the skiff. His
imperative gentleness had secured his object
50 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
without loss of time, and the boats were apart
with Winthrop's readiness to pull.
"Now row! Row for her life to yonder
shore ! Bow well up ! Away, or the Falls will
have her!" shouted Bedell.
"But you!" cried Winthrop, bending for his
stroke. Yet he did not comprehend Bedell's
meaning. Till the last the old man had spoken
without strong excitement. Dread of the river
was not on George; his bliss was supreme in
his thought, and he took the Squire's order for
one of exaggerated alarm.
"Row, I say, with all your strength!" cried
Bedell, with a flash of anger that sent the
young fellow away instantly. "Row! Concern
yourself not for me. I am going home. Row !
for her life, Winthrop ! God will deliver you
yet. Good-bye, children. Remember always
my blessing is freely given you."
"God bless and keep you forever, father!"
cried Ruth, from the distance, as her lover
pulled away.
They landed, conscious of having passed a
swift current, indeed, but quite unthinking of
the price paid for their safety. Looking back
on the darkling river, they saw nothing of the
old man.
JOHN BEDELL, TJ. E. LOYALIST 51
"Poor father!" sighed Ruth, "how kind he
was ! I'm sore-hearted for thinking of him at
home, so lonely."
Left alone in the clumsy boat, Bedell
stretched with the long, heavy oars for his own
shore, making appearance of strong exertion.
But when he no longer feared that his children
might turn back with sudden understanding,
and vainly, to his aid, he dragged the boat
slowly, watching her swift drift down — down
toward the towering mist. Then as he gazed at
the cloud, rising in two distinct volumes, came
a thought spurring the Loyalist spirit in an in-
stant. He was not yet out of American water!
Thereafter he pulled steadily, powerfully, not-
ing landmarks anxiously, studying currents,
considering always their trend to or from his
own shore. Half an hour had gone when he
again dropped into slower motion. Then he
could see Goat Island's upper end between him
and the mist of the American Fall.
Now the old man gave himself up to intense
curiosity, looking over into the water with
fascinated inquiry. He had never been so far
down the river. Darting beside their shadows,
deep in the clear flood, were now larger fishes
than he had ever taken, and all moved up as if
52 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
hurrying to escape. How fast the long trail-
ing, swaying, single weeds, and the crevices in
flat rock whence they so strangely grew, went
up stream and away as if drawn backward.
The sameness of the bottom to that higher up
interested him — where then did the current
begin to sweep clean? He should certainly
know that soon, he thought, without a touch
of fear, having utterly accepted death when
he determined it were base to carry his weary
old life a little longer, and let Ruth's young
love die. Now the Falls' heavy monotone was
overborne by terrible sounds — a mingled clash-
ing, shrieking,"- groaning, and rumbling, as of
great bowlders churned in their beds.
Bedell was nearing the first long swoop
downward at the rapids' head when those
watching him from the high bank below the
Chippewa River's mouth saw him put his boat
stern with the current and cease rowing en-
tirely, facing fairly the up-rushing mist to
which he was being hurried. Then they ob-
served him stooping, as if writing, for a time.
Something flashed in his hands, and then he
knelt with head bowed down. Kneeling, they
prayed, too.
Now he was almost on the brink of the
JOHN BEDELL, TJ. E. LOYALIST 53
cascades. Then he arose, and, glancing back-
ward to his home, caught sight of his friends
on the high shore. Calmly he waved a farewell.
What then? Thrice round he flung his hat,
with a gesture they knew full well. Some had
seen that exultant waving in front of ranks of
hattle. As clearly as though the roar of waters
had not drowned his ringing voice, they knew
that old John Bedell, at the poise of death,
cheered thrice, "Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah
for the King!"
They found his body a week afterward, float-
ing with the heaving water in the gorge below
the Falls. Though beaten almost out of recog-
nition, portions of clothing still adhered to it,
and in a waistcoat pocket they found the old
Loyalist's metal snuff-box, with this inscrip-
tion scratched by knife-point on the cover:
"God be praised, I die in British waters!
JOHN BEDELL."
OLD MAN SAVARIN
OLD Ma'ame Paradis had caught seventeen
small dore, four suckers, and eleven channel-
catfish before she used up all the worms in
her tomato-can. Therefore she was in a cheer-
ful and loquacious humor when I came along
and offered her some of my bait.
"Merci ; non, M'sieu. Dat's 'nuff fishin' for
me. I got too old now for fish too much. You
like me make you present of six or seven dore?
Yes? All right. Then you make me present
of one quarter dollar."
When this transaction was completed, the
old lady got out her short black clay pipe, and
filled it with tabac blanc.
"Ver' good smell for scare mosquitoes," said
she. "Sit down, M'sieu. For sure I like to
be here, me, for see the river when she's like
this."
Indeed the scene was more than picturesque.
Her fishing-platform extended twenty feet
from the rocky shore of the great Rataplan
Rapid of the Ottawa, which, beginning to
tumble a mile to the westward, poured a roar-
54
OLD MAN SAVARIN 55
ing torrent half a mile wide into the broader,
calm brown reach below. Noble elms towered
on the shores. Between their trunks we could
see many whitewashed cabins, whose doors of
blue or green or red scarcely disclosed their
colors in that light.
The sinking sun, which already touched the
river, seemed somehow the source of the vast
stream that flowed radiantly from its blaze.
Through the glamour of the evening mist and
the maze of June flies we could see a dozen
men scooping for fish from platforms like that
of Ma'ame Paradis.
Each scooper lifted a great hoop-net set on
a handle some fifteen feet long, threw it easily
up stream, and swept it on edge with the cur-
rent to the full length of his reach. Then it
was drawn out and at once thrown upward
again, if no capture had been made. In case
he had taken fish, he came to the inshore edge
of his platform, and upset the net's contents
into a pool separated from the main rapid by
an improvised wall of stones.
"I'm too old for scoop some now," said
Ma'ame Paradis, with a sigh.
"You were never strong enough to scoop,
surely," said I.
56 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"No, eh? All right, M'sieu. Then you
hain't nev' hear 'bout the time Old Man
Savarin was catched up with. No, eh? Well,
I'll tol' you 'bout that." And this was her
story as she told it to me.
"Der was fun dose time. Nobody ain't nev'
catch up with dat old rascal ony other time
since I'll know him first. Me, I'll be only fif-
teen den. Dat's long time 'go, eh? Well,
for sure, I ain't so old like what I'll look. But
Old Man Savarin was old already. He's old,
old, old, when he's only thirty; an' mean—
bapteme! If de old Nick ain' got de hottest
place for dat old stingy — yes, for sure!
"You'll see up dere where Frawce Seguin
is scoop? Dat's the Laroque platform by
right. Me, I was a Laroque. My fader was
use for scoop dere, an' my gran'fader — the
Laroques scoop dere all de time since ever
dere was some Rapid Rataplan. Den Old Man
Savarin he's buyed the land up dere from Felix
Ladoucier, an' he's told my fader, 'You can't
scoop no more wisout you pay me rent.'
" 'Rent !' my fader say. 'Saprie! Dat's my
fader's platform for scoop fish ! You ask any-
body/
OLD MAN SAVARIN 57
" 'Oh, I'll know all 'bout dat,' Old Man
Savarin is say. 'Ladoucier let you scoop front
of his land, for Ladoucier one big fool. De
lan's mine now, an' de fishin' right is mine.
You can't scoop dere wisout you pay me rent.'
ffBapteme! I'll show you 'bout dat,' my
fader say.
"Next mawny he is go for scoop same like
always. Den Old Man Savarin is fetch my
fader up before de magistrate. De magistrate
make my fader pay nine shillin'!
' 'Mebbe dat's learn you one lesson,' Old
Man Savarin is say.
"My fader swear pretty good, but my moder
say : 'Well, Narcisse, dere hain' no use for take
it out in malediction. De nine shillin' is paid.
You scoop more fish — dat's the way.'
"So my fader he is go out early, early nex*
mawny. He's scoop, he's scoop. He's catch
plenty fish before Old Man Savarin come.
'You ain't got 'nuff yet for fishin' on my
land, eh? Come out of dat,' Old Man Savarin
is say.
f 'Saprie! Ain't I pay nine shillin' for fish
here?' my fader say.
f 'Oui — you pay nine shillin' for fish here
wisout my leave. But you ain't pay nothin' for
58 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
fish here wis my leave. You is goin' up before
de magistrate some more.'
"So he is fetch my fader up anoder time.
An' de magistrate make my fader pay twelve
shillin' more!
" 'Well, I s'pose I can go fish on my fader's
platform now/ my fader is say.
"Old Man Savarin was laugh. 'Your honor,
dis man tink he don't have for pay me no rent,
because you'll make him pay two fines for
trespass on my land.'
"So de magistrate told my fader he hain't
got no more right for go on his own platform
than he was at the start. My fader is ver'
angry. He's cry, he's tear his shirt; but Old
Man Savarin only say, 'I guess I learn you
one good lesson, Narcisse.'
"De whole village ain't told de old rascal
how much dey was angry 'bout dat, for Old
Man Savarin is got dem all in debt at his big
store. He is grin, grin, and told everybody
how he learn my fader two good lesson. An'
he is told my fader: 'You see what I'll be goin'
for do wis you if ever you go on my land again
wisout you pay me rent.'
' 'How much you want?' my fader say.
" 'Half de fish you catch.'
OLD MAN SAVARIN 59
"'Monjee! Never!'
" 'Five dollar a year, den.'
ff 'Saprie, no. Dat's too much.'
" 'All right. Keep off my Ian,' if you hain't
want anoder lesson.'
" 'You's a tief,' my fader say.
" 'Hermidas, make up Narcisse Laroque
bill,' de old rascal say to his clerk. 'If he hain't
pay dat bill to-morrow, I sue him.'
"So my fader is scare mos' to death. Only
my moder she's say, 'I'll pay dat bill, me.'
"So she's take the money she's saved up
long time for make my weddin' when it come.
An' she's paid de bill. So den my fader hain't
scare no more, an' he is shake his fist good
under Old Man Savarin's ugly nose. But dat
old rascal only laugh an' say, 'Narcisse, you
like to be fined some more, eh?'
' 'Tort Dieu. You rob me of my place for
fish, but I'll take my platform anyhow,' my
fader is say.
'Yes, eh? All right — if you can get him
wisout go on my land. But you go on my land,
and see if I don't learn you anoder lesson,'
Old Savarin is say.
"So my fader is rob of his platform, too.
Nex' ting we hear, Frawce Seguin has rent dat
platform for five dollars a year.
60 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"Den de big fun begin. My fader an Frawce
is cousin. All de time before den dey was good
friend. But my fader he is go to Frawce
Seguin's place an' he is told him, 'Frawce,
I'll goin' lick you so hard you can't nev' scoop
on my platform.'
"Frawce only laugh. Den Old Man Savarin
come up de hill.
" 'Fetch him up to de magistrate an' learn
him anoder lesson,' he is say to Frawce.
" 'What for?' Frawce say.
' 'For try to scare you.'
" 'He hain't hurt me none.'
" 'But he's say he will lick you.'
" 'Dat's only because he's vex,' Frawce say.
"'Bapteme! Non!' my fader say. 'I'll be
goin' for lick you good, Frawce.'
' 'For sure?' Frawce say.
r 'Saprie! Yes ; for sure.'
" 'Well, dat's all right den, Narcisse. When
you goin' for lick me?'
" 'First time I'll get drunk. I'll be goin'
for get drunk dis same day.'
" 'All right, Narcisse. If you goin' get
drunk for lick me, I'll be goin' get drunk for
lick you' — Canadien hain't nev' fool 'nuff for
fight, M'sieu, only if dey is got drunk.
DEY 8 FIGHT LIKE DAT FOR MORE AS FOUR HOURS
OLD MAN SAVARIN 61
"Well, my fader he's go on old Marceau's
hotel, an' he's drink all day. Frawce Seguin
he's go cross de road on Joe Maufraud's hotel,
an' he's drink all day. When de night come,
dey's bose stand out in front of de two hotel
for fight.
"Dey's bose yell an' yell for make de oder
feller scare bad before dey begin. Hermidas
Laronde an' Jawnny Leroi dey's hold my fader
for fear he's go 'cross de road for keel Frawce
Seguin dead. Pierre Seguin an' Magloire
Sauve is hold Frawce for fear he's come 'cross
de road for keel my fader dead. And dose men
fight dat way 'cross de road, till dey hain't
hardly able for stand up no more.
"My fader he's tear his shirt and he's yell,
'Let me at him!' Frawce he's tear his shirt
and he's yell, 'Let me at him!' But de men
hain't goin' for let dem loose, for fear one is
strike de oder ver' hard. De whole village is
shiver 'bout dat offle fight — yes, seh, shiver
bad!
"Well, dey's fight like dat for more as four
hours, till dey hain't able for yell no more, an'
dey hain't got no money left for buy wheeskey
for de crowd. Den Marceau and Joe Mau-
fraud tol' dem bose it was a shame for two
62 OLD MAN SAVAKJN STORIES
cousins to fight so bad. An' my fader he's say
he's ver' sorry dat he lick Frawce so hard,
and dey's hose sorry. So dey's kiss one an-
oder good — only all their close is tore to
pieces.
"An' what you tink 'bout Old Man Savarin?
Old Man Savarin is just stand in front of his
store all de time, an' he's say: 'I'll tink I'll
fetch 'him bose hup to de magistrate, an' I'll
learn him bose a lesson.'
"Me, I'll be only fifteen, but I hain't scare
'bout dat fight same like my moder is scare.
]STo more is Alphonsine Seguin scare. She's
seventeen, an' she wait for de fight to be all
over. Den she take her fader home, same like
I'll take my fader home for bed. Dat's after
twelve o'clock of night.
"N"ex' mawny early my fader he's groaned
and he's groaned: 'Ah — ugh — I'm sick, sick,
me. I'll be goin' for die dis time, for sure.'
'You get up an' scoop some fish,' my moder
she's say, angry. 'Den you hain't be sick no
more.'
" 'Ach— ugh— I'll hain't be able. Oh, I'll
be so sick. An' I hain' got no place for scoop
fish now no more. Frawce Seguin has rob my
platform.'
OLD MAN SAVAIIIN 63
" 'Take de nex' one lower down,' my moder
she's say.
* 'Dat's Jawnny Leroi's.'
' 'All right for dat. Jawnny he's hire for
run timber to-day.'
! 'Ugh — I'll not be able for get up. Send
for M'sieu le Cure — I'll be goin' for die for
sure.'
' 'Misere, but dat's no man! Dat's a drunk
pig,' my moder she's say, angry. 'Sick, eh?
Lazy, lazy — dat's so. An' dere hain't no fish
for de little chilluns, an' it's Friday mawny.'
So my moder she's begin for cry.
"Well, M'sieu, I'll make de rest short; for
de sun is all gone now. What you tink I do
dat mawny? I take de big scoop-net an' I'll
come up here for see if I'll be able for scoop
some fish on Jawnny Leroi's platform. Only
dere hain't nev' much fish dere.
"Pretty quick I'll look up and I'll see
Alphonsine Seguin scoop, scoop on my fader's
old platform. Alphonsine's fader is sick, sick,
same like my fader, an' all de Seguin boys is
too little for scoop, same like my brudders is
too little. So dere Alphonsine she's scoop,
scoop for breakfas'.
"What you tink I'll see some more? I'll
64 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
see Old Man Savarin. He's watchin' from de
corner of de cedar bush, an I'll know ver' good
what he's watch for. He's watch for catch
my fader go on his own platform. He's want
for learn my fader anoder lesson. Saprie!
dat's make me ver' angry, M'sieu!
"Alphonsine she's scoop, scoop plenty fish.
I'll not be scoop none. Dat's make me more
angry. I'll look up where Alphonsine is, an'
I'll talk to myself :-
* 'Dat's my fader's platform,' I'll be say.
'Dat's my fader's fish what you catch, Alphon-
sine. You hain't nev' be my cousin no more.
It is mean, mean for Frawce Seguin to rent
my fader's platform for please dat old rascal
Savarin.' Mebby I'll not be so angry at
Alphonsine, M'sieu, if I was able for catch
some fish; but I hain't able — I don't catch
none.
"Well, M'sieu, dat's de way for long time-
half -hour mebby. Den I'll hear Alphonsine
yell good. I'll look up de river some more.
She's try for lift her net. She's try hard, hard,
but she hain't able. De net is down in de rapid,
an' she's only able for hang on to de hannle.
Den I'll know she's got one big sturgeon, an'
he's so big she can't pull him up.
OLD MAN SAVARIN 65
"Monjee! what I care 'bout dat! I'll laugh
me. Den I'll laugh good some more, for I'll
want Alphonsine for see how I'll laugh big.
And I'll talk to myself :-
* 'Dat's good for dose Seguins,' I'll say.
'De big sturgeon will pull away de net. Den
Alphonsine she will lose her fader's scoop wis
de sturgeon. Dat's good 'nuff for dose
Seguins ! Take my fader platform, eh ?'
"For sure, I'll want for go an' help Alphon-
sine all de same — she's my cousin, an' I'll want
for see de sturgeon, me. But I'll only just
laugh, laugh. Non, M'sieu; dere was not one
man out on any of de oder platform dat mawny
for to help Alphonsine. Dey was all sleep
ver' late, for dey was all out ver' late for see
de offle fight I told you 'bout.
"Well, pretty quick, what you tink? I'll
see Old Man Savarin goin' to my fader's plat-
form. He's take hold for help Alphonsine, an'
dey's bose pull, and pretty quick de big stur-
geon is up on de platform. I'll be more angry
as before.
"Oh, tort Dieu! What you tink come den?
Why, dat Old Man Savarin is want for take
de sturgeon!
"First dey hain't speak so I can hear, for
66 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
de Rapid is too loud. But pretty quick dey's
bose angry, and I hear dem talk.
' 'Dat's my fish,' Old Man Savarin is say.
'Didn't I save him? Wasn't you goin' for lose
him, for sure?'
"Me — I'll laugh good. Dass such an old
rascal.
' You get off dis platform, quick!' Alphon-
sine she's say.
' 'Give me my sturgeon,' he's say.
' 'Dat's a lie — it hain't your sturgeon. It's
my sturgeon,' she's yell.
* 'I'll learn you one lesson 'bout dat,' he's
say.
"Well, M'sieu, Alphonsine she's pull back
de fish just when Old Man Savarin is make one
grab. An' when she's pull back, she's step to
one side, an' de old rascal he is grab at de fish,
an' de heft of de sturgeon is make him fall on
his face, so he's tumble in de Rapid when
Alphonsine let go de sturgeon. So der's Old
Man Savarin floating in de river — and me!
I'll don' care eef he's drown one bit!
"One time he is on his back, one time he is
on his face, one time he is all under de water.
For sure he's goin' for be draw into de culbute
an' get drown' dead, if I'll not be able for
OLD MAN SAVARIN 67
scoop him when he's go by my platform. I'll
want for laugh, but I'll be too much scare.
"Well, M'sieu, I'll pick up my fader's scoop
and I'll stand out on de edge of de platform.
De water is run so fast, I'm mos' 'fraid de old
man is boun' for pull me in when I'll scoop
him. But I'll not mind for dat, I'll throw de
scoop an' catch him; an' for sure, he's hold
on good.
"So dere's de old rascal in de scoop, but
when I'll get him safe, I hain't able for pull
him in one bit. I'll only be able for hold on
an' laugh, laugh — he's look ver' queer! All I
can do is to hold him dere so he can't go down
de culbute. I'll can't pull him up if I'll want
to.
"De old man is scare ver' bad. But pretty
quick he's got hold of de cross-bar of de hoop,
an' he's got his ugly old head up good.
' 'Pull me in,' he say, ver' angry.
" 'I'll hain't be able,' I'll say.
"Jus' den Alphonsine she's come 'long, an'
she's laugh so she can't hardly hold on wis me
to de hannle. I was laugh good some more.
When de old villain see us have fun, he's yell:
'I'll learn you bose one lesson for this. Pull
me ashore!'
68 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
" 'Oh! you's learn us bose one lesson, M'sieu
Savarin, eh?' Alphonsine she's say. 'Well, den,
us bose will learn M'sieu Savarin one lesson
first. Pull him up a little,' she's say to me.
"So we pull him up, an' den Alphonsine
she's say to me: 'Let out de hannle, quick'-
and he's under de water some more. When
we stop de net, he's got hees head up pretty
quick.
" 'Monjee! Ill be drown' if you don't pull
me out,' he's mos' cry.
" 'Ver' well — if you's drown, your family be
ver' glad,' Alphonsine she's say. 'Den they's
got all your money for spend quick, quick.'
"M'sieu, dat scare him offle. He's begin for
cry like one baby.
' 'Save me out,' he's say. 'I'll give you any-
thing I've got.'
' 'How much?' Alphonsine she's say.
"He's tink, and he's say, 'Quarter dollar.'
"Alphonsine an' me is laugh, laugh.
" 'Save me,' he's cry some more. 'I hain't
fit for die dis mawny.'
'You hain't fit for live no mawny,' Alphon-
sine she's say. 'One quarter dollar, eh?
Where's my sturgeon?'
" 'He's got away when I fall in,' he's say.
OLD MAN SAVAEIN 69
' 'How much you goin' give me for lose my
big sturgeon?' she's ask.
' 'How much you'll want, Alphonsine?'
" 'Two dollare.'
' 'Dat's too much for one sturgeon,' he's
say. For all he was not feel fit for die, he
was more 'fraid for pay out his money.
' 'Let him down some more,' Alphonsine
she's say.
' 'Oh, miser e, miser e! I'll pay de two dol-
lare,' he's say when his head come up some
more.
" 'Ver' well, den,' Alphonsine she's say; 'I'll
be willin' for save you, me. But you hain't
scooped by me. You's in Marie's net. I'll
only come for help Marie. You's her stur-
geon'; an' Alphonsine she's laugh an' laugh.
" *I didn't lost no sturgeon for Marie,' he's
say.
" 'No, eh?' I'll say mysef. 'But you's steal
my fader's platform. You's take his fishin'
place. You's got him fined two times. You's
make my moder pay his bill wis my weddin'
money. What you goin' pay for all dat ? You
tink I'll be goin' for mos' kill mysef pullin'
you out for noting? When you ever do some-
70 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
ting for anybody for noting, eh, M'sieu
Savarin?'
' 'How much you want?' he's say.
" 'Ten dollare for de platform, dat's all.'
" 'Never — dat's robbery,' he's say, an' he's
begin to cry like ver' li'll baby.
" 'Pull him hup, Marie, an' give him some
more,' Alphonsine she's say.
"But de old rascal is so scare 'bout dat, dat
he's say he's pay right off. So we's pull him
up near to de platform, only we hain't big
'nuff fool for let him out of de net till he's take
out his purse an' pay de twelve dollare.
"Monjee, M'sieu ! If ever you see one angry
old rascal! He not even stop for say: 'T'ank
you for save me from be drown' dead in the
culbutel3 He's run for his house an' he's put
on dry clo'es, and' he's go up to de magistrate
first ting for learn me an' Alphonsine one big
lesson.
"But de magistrate hain' ver' bad magis-
trate. He's only laugh an' he's say:—
' 'M'sieu Savarin, de whole river will be
laugh at you for let two young girl take eet
out of smart man like you like dat. Hain't you
tink your life worth twelve dollare? Didn't
dey save you from de culbute? Monjee! I'll
OLD MAN SAVARIN 71
tink de whole river not laugh so ver' bad if you
pay dose young girl one hunder dollare for
save you so kind.'
" 'One hunder dollare !' he's mos' cry.
'Hain't you goin' to learn dose girl one lesson
for take advantage of me dat way?'
4 'Didn't you pay dose girl yoursef ? Didn't
you took out your purse yoursef? Yes, eh?
Well, den, I'll goin' for learn you one lesson
yourself, M'sieu Savarin,' de magistrate is say.
'Dose two young girl is ver' wicked, eh? Yes,
dat's so. But for why? Hain't dey just do to
you what you been doin' ever since you was in
beesness? Don' I know? You hain' never yet
got advantage of nobody wisout you rob him
all you can, an' dose wicked young girl only
act just like you give dem a lesson all your
life.'
"An' de best fun was de whole river did
laugh at M'sieu Savarin. An' my fader and
Frawce Seguin is laugh most of all, till he's
catch hup wis bose of dem anoder time. You
come for see me some more, an' I'll tol' you
'bout dat."
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT
"HARK to Angus! Man, his heart will be
sore the night ! In five years I have not heard
him playing 'Great Godfrey's Lament,' " said
old Alexander McTavish, as with him I was
sitting of a June evening, at sundown, under a
wide apple-tree of his orchard-lawn.
When the sweet song-sparrows of the Ot-
tawa valley had ceased their plaintive strains,
Angus McNeil began on his violin. This night,
instead of "Tullochgorum" or "Roy's Wife"
or "The March of the McNeils," or any merry
strathspey, he crept into an unusual movement,
and from a distance came the notes of an ex-
ceeding strange strain blent with the medita-
tive murmur of the Rataplan Rapids.
I am not well enough acquainted with musi-
cal terms to tell the method of that composition
in which the wail of a Highland coronach
seemed mingled with such mournful crooning
as I had heard often from Indian voyageurs
north of Lake Superior. Perhaps that fancy
sprang from my knowledge that Angus Mc-
Neil's father had been a younger son of the
chief of the McNeil clan, and his mother a
72
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 73
daughter of the greatest man of the Cree na-
tion.
"Ay, but Angus is wae," sighed old Mc-
Tavish. "What will he be seeing the now? It
was the night before his wife died that he
played yon last. Come, we will go up the road.
He does be liking to see the people gather to
listen."
We walked, maybe three hundred yards, and
stood leaning against the ruined picket-fence
that surrounds the great stone house built by
Hector McNeil, the father of Angus, when he
retired from his position as one of the "Big
Bourgeois" of the famous Northwest Fur
Trading Company.
The huge square structure of four stories
and a basement is divided, above the ground
floor, into eight suites, some of four, and some
of five rooms. In these suites the fur-trader,
whose ideas were all patriarchal, had designed
that he and his Indian wife, with his seven sons
and their future families, should live to the end
of his days and theirs. That was a dream at
the time when his boys were all under nine
years old, and Godfrey little more than a baby
in arms.
The ground-floor is divided by a hall twenty-
74 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
five feet wide into two long chambers, one in-
tended to serve as a dining-hall for the multi-
tude of descendants that Hector expected to
see round his old age, the other as a withdraw-
ing-room for himself and his wife, or for festive
occasions. In this mansion Angus McNeil
now dwelt alone.
He sat out that evening on a balcony at the
rear of the hall, whence he could overlook the
McTavish place and the hamlet that extends a
quarter of a mile further down the Ottawa's
north shore. His right side was toward the
large group of French-Canadian people who
had gathered to hear him play. Though he
was sitting, I could make out that his was a
gigantic figure.
"Ay — it will be just exactly 'Great God-
frey's Lament,' " McTavish whispered. "Weel
do I mind him playing yon many's the night
after Godfrey was laid in the mools. Then he
played it no more till before his ain wife died.
What is he seeing now? Man, it's weel kenned
he has the second sight at times. Maybe he
sees the pit digging for himself. He's the last
of them."
"Who was Great Godfrey?" I asked, rather
loudly.
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 75
Angus McNeil instantly cut short the "La-
ment," rose from his chair, and faced us.
"Aleck McTavish, who have you with you?"
he called imperiously.
"My young cousin from the city, Mr. Mc-
Neil," said McTavish, with deference.
"Bring him in. I wish to spoke with you,
Aleck McTavish. The young man that is not
acquaint with the name of Great Godfrey Mc-
Neil can come with you. I will be at the great
door."
"It's strange-like," said McTavish, as we
went to the upper gate. "He has not asked
me inside for near five years. I'm feared his
wits is disordered, by his way of speaking.
Mind what you say. Great Godfrey was most
like a god to Angus."
When Angus McNeil met us at the front
door I saw he was verily a giant. Indeed, he
was a wee bit more than six and a half feet tall
when he stood up straight. Now he was
stooped a little, not with age, but with con-
sumption,— the disease most fatal to men of
mixed white and Indian blood. His face was
dark brown, his features of the Indian cast, but
his black hair had not the Indian lankness. It
curled tightly round his grand head.
76 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Without a word he beckoned us on into the
vast withdrawing room. Without a word he
seated himself beside a large oaken centre-
table, and motioned us to sit opposite.
Before he broke silence, I saw that the win-
dows of that great chamber were hung with
faded red damask; that the heads of many a
bull moose, buck, bear, and wolf grinned among
guns and swords and claymores from its walls ;
that charred logs, fully fifteen feet long, re-
mained in the fireplace from the last winter's
burning; that there were three dim portraits
in oil over the mantel ; that the room contained
much frayed furniture, once sumptuous of red
velvet; and that many skins of wild beasts lay
strewn over a hard- wood floor whose edges still
retained their polish and faintly gleamed in
rays from the red west.
That light was enough to show that two of
the oil paintings must be those of Hector Mc-
Neil and his Indian wife. Between these hung
one of a singularly handsome youth with yellow
hair.
"Here my father lay dead," cried Angus
McNeil, suddenly striking the table. He
stared at us silently for many seconds, then
again struck the table with the side of his
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 77
clenched fist. "He lay here dead on this table
—yes! It was Godfrey that straked him out
all alone on this table. You mind Great God-
frey, Aleck McTavish."
"Well I do, Mr. McNeil; and your mother
yonder, — a grand lady she was." McTavish
spoke with curious humility, seeming wishful,
I thought, to comfort McNeil's sorrow by ex-
citing his pride.
"Ay — they'll tell hereafter that she was just
exactly a squaw," cried the big man, angrily.
"But grand she was, and a great lady, and a
proud. Oh, man, man! but they were proud,
my father and my Indian mother. And God-
frey was the pride of the hearts of them both.
No wonder; but it was sore on the rest of us
after they took him apart from our ways."
Aleck McTavish spoke not a word, and big
Angus, after a long pause, went on as if almost
unconscious of our presence : —
"White was Godfrey, and rosy of the cheek
like my father ; and the blue eyes of him would
match the sky when you'll be seeing it up
through a blazing maple on a clear day of
October. Tall, and straight, and grand was
Godfrey, my brother. What was the thing
Godfrey could not do? The songs of him
78 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
hushed the singing-birds on the tree, and the
fiddle he would play to take the soul out of
your body. There was not white one among us
till he was born.
"The rest of us all were just Indians — ay,
Indians, Aleck McTavish. Brown we were,
and the desire of us was all for the woods and
the river. Godfrey had white sense like my
father, and often we saw the same look in his
eyes. My God, but we feared our father!"
Angus paused to cough. After the fit he sat
silent for some minutes. The voice of the great
rapid seemed to fill the room. When he spoke
again, he stared past our seat with fixed, di-
lated eyes, as if tranced by a vision.
"Godfrey, Godfrey — you hear! Godfrey,
the six of us would go over the falls and not
think twice of it, if it would please you, when
you were little. Oich, the joy we had in the
white skin of you, and the fine ways, till my
father and mother saw we were just making
an Indian of you, like ourselves ! So they took
you away ; ay, and many's the day the six of us
went to the woods and the river, missing you
sore. It's then you began to look on us with
that look that we could not see was different
from the look we feared in the blue eyes of our
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 79
father. Oh, but we feared him, Godfrey ! And
the time went by, and we feared and we hated
you that seemed lifted up above your Indian
brothers!"
"Oich, the masters they got to teach him!"
said Angus, addressing himself again to my
cousin. "In the Latin and the Greek they
trained him. History books he read, and sto-
ries in song. Ay, and the manners of Godfrey !
Well might the whole pride of my father and
mother be on their one white son. A grand
young gentleman was Godfrey, — Great God-
frey we called him, when he was eighteen.
"The fine, rich people that would come up
in bateaux from Montreal to visit my father
had the smile and the kind word for Godfrey;
but they looked upon us with the eyes of the
white man for the Indian. And that look we
were more and more sure was growing harder
in Godfrey's eyes. So we looked back at him
with the eyes of the wolf that stares at the bull
moose, and is fierce to pull him down, but dares
not try, for the moose is too great and lordly.
"Mind you, Aleck McTavish, for all we
hated Godfrey when we thought he would be
looking at us like strange Indians — for all that,
yet we were proud of him that he was our own
80 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
brother. Well, we minded how he was all like
one with us when he was little ; and in the calm
looks of him, and the white skin, and the yellow
hair, and the grandeur of him, we had pride,
do you understand? Ay, and in the strength
of him we were glad. Would we not sit still
and pleased when it was the talk how he could
run quicker than the best, and jump higher
than his head — ay, would we ! Man, there was
none could compare in strength with Great
Godfrey, the youngest of us all!
"He and my father and mother more and
more lived by themselves in this room. Yonder
room across the hall was left to us six Indians.
No manners, no learning had we; we were no
fit company for Godfrey. My mother was like
she was wilder with love of Godfrey the more
he grew and the grander, and never a word for
days and weeks together did she give to us. It
was Godfrey this, and Godfrey that, and all
her thought was Godfrey !
"Most of all we hated him when she was
lying dead here on this table. We six in the
other room could hear Godfrey and my father
groan and sigh. We would step softly to the
door and listen to them kissing her that was
dead, — them white, and she Indian like our-
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 81
selves, — and us not daring to go in for the fear
of the eyes of our father. So the soreness was
in our hearts so cruel hard that we would not
go in till the last, for all their asking. My God,
my God, Aleck McTavish, if you saw her!
she seemed smiling like at Godfrey, and she
looked like him then, for all she was brown
as November oak-leaves, and he white that day
as the froth on the rapid.
"That put us farther from Godfrey than
before. And farther yet we were from him
after, when he and my father would be walking
up and down, up and down, arm in arm, up
and down the lawn in the evenings. They
would be talking about books, and the great
McNeils in Scotland. The six of us knew we
were McNeils, for all we were Indians, and we
would listen to the talk of the great pride and
the great deeds of the McNeils that was our
own kin. We would be drinking the whiskey
if we had it, and saying: 'Godfrey to be the
only McNeil! Godfrey to take all the pride of
the name of us !' Oh, man, man ! but we hated
Godfrey sore."
Big Angus paused long, and I seemed to see
clearly the two fair-haired, tall men walking
arm in arm on the lawn in the twilight, as if
82 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
unconscious or careless of being watched and
overheard by six sore-hearted kinsmen.
"You'll mind when my father was thrown
from his horse and carried into this room, Aleck
McTavish? Ay, well you do. But you nor
no other living man but me knows what came
about the night that he died.
"Godfrey was alone with him. The six of
us were in yon room. Drink we had, but cau-
tious we were with it, for there was a deed to
be done that would need all our senses. We
sat in a row on the floor — we were Indians —
it was our wigwam — we sat on the floor to be
against the ways of them two. Godfrey was
in here across the hall from us; alone he was
with our white father. He would be chief over
us by the will, no doubt, — and if Godfrey lived
through that night it would be strange.
"We were cautious with the whiskey, I told
you before. Not a sound could we hear of
Godfrey or of my father. Only the rapid, call-
ing and calling, — I mind it well that night.
Ay, and well I mind the striking of the great
clock, — tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, — I listened
and I dreamed on it till I doubted but it was
the beating of my father's heart.
"Ten o'clock was gone by, and eleven was
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 83
near. How many of us sat sleeping I know
not ; but I woke up with a start, and there was
Great Godfrey, with a candle in his hand, look-
ing down strange at us, and us looking up
strange at him.
' 'He is dead,' Godfrey said.
"We said nothing.
" 'Father died two hours ago/ Godfrey said.
"We said nothing.
' 'Our father is white, — he is very white,'
Godfrey said, and he trembled. 'Our mother
was brown when she was dead.'
"Godfrey's voice was wild.
' 'Come, brothers, and see how white is our
father,' Godfrey said.
"No one of us moved.
'Won't you come? In God's name, come,'
said Godfrey. 'Oich — but it is very strange!
I have looked in his face so long that now I do
not know him for my father. He is like no
kin to me, lying there. I am alone, alone.'
"Godfrey wailed in a manner. It made me
ashamed to hear his voice like that — him that
looked like my father that was always silent as
a sword — him that was the true McNeil.
'You look at me, and your eyes are the
eyes of my mother,' says Godfrey, staring
84 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
wilder. 'What are you doing here, all so still?
Drinking the whiskey? I am the same as you.
I am your brother. I will sit with you, and if
you drink the whiskey, I will drink the whis-
key, too.'
"Aleck McTavish! with that he sat down on
the floor in the dirt and litter beside Donald,
that was oldest of us all.
" 'Give me the bottle,' he said. 'I am as
much Indian as you, brothers. What you do I
will do, as I did when I was little, long ago.'
"To see him sit down in his best, — all his
learning and his grand manners as if forgotten,
— man, it was like as if our father himself was
turned Indian, and was low in the dirt!
"What was in the heart of Donald I don't
know, but he lifted the bottle and smashed it
down on the floor.
" 'God in heaven! what's to become of the
McNeils ! You that was the credit of the fam-
ily, Godfrey !' says Donald with a groan.
"At that Great Godfrey jumped to his feet
like he was come awake.
" 'You're fitter to be the head of the Mc-
Neils than I am, Donald,' says he; and with
that the tears broke out of his eyes, and he cast
himself into Donald's arms. Well, with that
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 85
we all began to cry as if our hearts would break.
I threw myself down on the floor at Godfrey's
feet, and put my arms round his knees the same
as I'd lift him up when he was little. There I
cried, and we all cried around him, and after a
bit I said: —
' 'Brothers, this was what was in the mind
of Godfrey. He was all alone in yonder. We
are his brothers, and his heart warmed to us,
and he said to himself, it was better to be like
us than to be alone, and he thought if he came
and sat down and drank the whiskey with us,
he would be our brother again, and not be any
more alone.'
' 'Ay, Angus, Angus, but how did you know
that?' says Godfrey, crying; and he put his
arms round my neck, and lifted me up till we
were breast to breast. With that we all put
our arms some way round one another and
Godfrey, and there we stood sighing and sway-
ing and sobbing a long time, and no man say-
ing a word.
* 'Oh, man, Godfrey dear, but our father is
gone, and who can talk with you now about the
Latin, and the history books, and the great
McNeils — and our mother that's gone?' says
Donald; and the thought of it was such pity
that our hearts seemed like to break.
86 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"But Godfrey said: 'We will talk together
like brothers. If it shames you for me to be
like you, then I will teach you all they taught
me, and we will all be like our white father.'
"So we all agreed to have it so, if he would
tell us what to do. After that we came in here
with Godfrey, and we stood looking at my
father's white face. Godfrey all alone had
straked him out on this table, with the silver-
pieces on the eyes that we had feared. But
the silver we did not fear. Maybe you will not
understand it, Aleck McTavish, but our father
never seemed such close kin to us as when we
would look at him dead, and at Godfrey, that
was the picture of him, living and kind.
"After that you know what happened your-
self."
"Well I do, Mr. McNeil. It was Great
Godfrey that was the father to you all," said
my cousin.
"Just that, Aleck McTavish. All that he
had was ours to use as we would, — his land,
money, horses, this room, his learning. Some
of us could learn one thing and some of us
could learn another, and some could learn noth-
ing, not even how to behave. What I could
learn was the playing of the fiddle. Many's
WE STOOD LOOKING AT MY FATHER'S WHITE FACE
GEEAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 87
the hour Godfrey would play with me while
the rest were all happy around.
"In great content we lived like brothers, and
proud to see Godfrey as white and fine and
grand as the best gentleman that ever came up
to visit him out of Montreal. Ay, in great con-
tent we lived all together till the consumption
came on Donald, and he was gone. Then it
came and came back, and came back again, till
Hector was gone, and Ranald was gone, and
in ten years' time only Godfrey and I were
left. Then both of us married, as you know.
But our children died as fast as they were born,
almost, — for the curse seemed on us. Then his
wife died, and Godfrey sighed and sighed ever
after that.
"One night I was sleeping with the door of
my room open, so I could hear if Godfrey
needed my help. The cough was on him then.
Out of a dream of him looking at my father's
white face I woke and went to his bed. He was
not there at all.
"My heart went cold with fear, for I heard
the rapid very clear, like the nights they all
died. Then I heard the music begin down
stairs, here in this chamber where they were
all laid out dead, — right here on this table
88 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
where I will soon lie like the rest. I leave it
to you to see it done, Aleck McTavish, for you
are a Highlandman by blood. It was that I
wanted to say to you when I called you in. I
have seen himself in my coffin three nights.
Nay, say nothing ; you will see.
"Hearing the music that night, down I came
softly. Here sat Godfrey, and the kindest
look was on his face that ever I saw. He had
his fiddle in his hand, and he played about all
our lives.
"He played about how we all came down
from the North in the big canoe with my father
and mother, when we were little children and
him a baby. He played of the rapids we passed
over, and of the rustling of the poplar-trees
and the purr of the pines. He played till the
river you hear now was in the fiddle, with the
sound of our paddles, and the fish jumping for
flies. He played about the long winters when
we were young, so that the snow of those win-
ters seemed falling again. The ringing of our
skates on the ice I could hear in the fiddle. He
played through all our lives when we were
young and going in the woods yonder together
— and then it was the sore lament began !
"It was like as if he played how they kept
GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT 89
him away from his brothers, and him at his
books thinking of them in the woods, and him
hearing the partridges' drumming, and the
squirrels' chatter, and all the little birds singing
and singing. Oich, man, but there's no words
for the sadness of it !"
Old Angus ceased to speak as he took his
violin from the table and struck into the middle
of "Great Godfrey's Lament." As he played,
his wide eyes looked past us, and the tears
streamed down his brown cheeks. When the
woful strain ended, he said, staring past us:
"Ay, Godfrey, you were always our brother."
Then he put his face down in his big brown
hands, and we left him without another word.
McGRATH'S BAD NIGHT
"COME, then, childer," said Mrs. McGrath,
and took the big iron pot off. They crowded
around her, nine of them, the eldest not more
than thirteen, the youngest just big enough to
hold out his yellow crockery bowl.
"The youngest first," remarked Mrs. Mc-
Grath, and ladled out a portion of the boiled
cornmeal to each of the deplorable boys and
girls. Before they reached the stools from
which they had sprung up, or squatted again
on the rough floor, they all burned their mouths
in tasting the mush too eagerly. Then there
they sat, blowing into their bowls, glaring into
them, lifting their loaded iron spoons occasion-
ally to taste cautiously, till the mush had some-
what cooled.
Then, gobble-de-gobble-de-gobble, it was all
gone! Though they had neither sugar, nor
milk, nor butter to it, they found it a remark-
ably excellent sample of mush, and wished only
that, in quantity, it had been something more.
Peter McGrath sat close beside the cooking-
stove, holding Number Ten, a girl-baby, who
90
MC GRATH'S BAD NIGHT 91
was asleep, and rocking Number Eleven, who
was trying to wake up, in the low, unpainted
cradle. He never took his eyes off Number
Eleven; he could not bear to look around and
see the nine devouring the corn-meal so hun-
grily. Perhaps McGrath could not, and cer-
tainly he would not, — he was so obstinate, —
have told why he felt so reproached by the
scene. He had felt very guilty for many
weeks.
Twenty, yes, a hundred times a day he
looked in a dazed way at his big hands, and
they reproached him, too, that they had no
work.
"Where is our smooth, broad-axe handle?"
asked the fingers, "and why do not the wide
chips fly?"
He was ashamed, too, every time he rose up,
so tall and strong, with nothing to do, and
eleven children and his wife next door to star-
vation; but if he had been asked to describe
his feelings, he would merely have growled out
angrily something against old John Pontiac.
"You'll take your sup now, Peter?" asked
Mrs. McGrath, offering him the biggest of the
yellow bowls. He looked up then, first at her
forlorn face, then at the pot. Number Nine
92 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
was diligently scraping off some streaks of
mush that had run down the outside ; Numbers
Eight, Seven, Six, and Five were looking re-
spectfully into the pot ; Numbers Four, Three,
Two, and One were watching the pot, the
steaming bowl, and their father at the same
time. Peter McGrath was very hungry.
"Yourself had better eat, Mary Ann," he
said. "I'll be having mine after it's cooler."
Mrs. McGrath dipped more than a third of
the bowlful back into the pot, and ate the rest
with much satisfaction. The numerals watched
her anxiously but resignedly.
''Sure it'll be cold entirely, Peter dear," she
said, "and the warmth is so comforting. Give
me little Norah now, the darlint! and be after
eating your supper."
She had ladled out the last spoonful of mush,
and the pot was being scraped inside earnestly
by Nine, Eight, Seven, and Six. Peter took
the bowl, and looked at his children.
The earlier numbers were observing him
with peculiar sympathy, putting themselves in
his place, as it were, possessing the bowl in
imagination ; the others now moved their spoons
absent-mindedly around in the pot, brought
them empty to their mouths, mechanically, now
MC GRATH'S BAD NIGHT 93
and again, sucked them more or less, and still
stared steadily at their father.
His inner walls felt glued together, yet inde-
scribably hollow; the smell of the mush went
up into his nostrils, and pungently provoked
his palate and throat. He was famishing.
"Troth, then, Mary Ann," he said, "there's
no hunger in me to-night. Sure, I wish the
childer would n't leave me the trouble of eating
it. Come, then, all of ye !"
The nine came promptly to his call. There
were just twenty- two large spoonfuls in the
bowl; each child received two; the remaining
four went to the four youngest. Then the bowl
was skilfully scraped by Number Nine, after
which Number Seven took it, whirled a cup of
water artfully round its interior, and with this
put a fine finish on his meal.
Peter McGrath then searched thoughtfully
in his trousers pockets, turning their corners
up, getting pinches of tobacco dust out of their
remotest recesses; he put his blouse pocket
through a similar process. He found no pock-
ets in his well-patched overcoat when he took it
down, but he pursued the dust into its lining,
and separated it carefully from little dabs of
wool. Then he put the collection into an ex-
94 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
tremely old black clay pipe, lifted a coal in with
his fingers, and took his supper.
It would be absurd to assert that, on this
continent, a strong man could be so poor as
Peter, unless he had done something very
wrong or very foolish. Peter McGrath was,
in truth, out of work because he had committed
an outrage on economics. He had been guilty
of the enormous error of misunderstanding,
and trying to set at naught in his own person,
the immutable law of supply and demand.
Fancying that a first-class hewer in a timber
shanty had an inalienable right to receive at
least thirty dollars a month, when the demand
was only strong enough to yield him twenty-
two dollars a month, Peter had refused to en-
gage at the beginning of the winter.
"Now, Mr. McGrath, you're making a mis-
take," said his usual employer, old John Pon-
tiac. "I'm offering you the best wages going,
mind that. There's mighty little squared tim-
ber coming out this winter."
"I'm ready and willing to work, boss, but
I'm fit to arn thirty dollars, surely."
"So you are, so you are, in good times, neigh-
bor, and I'd be glad if men's wages were forty.
That could only be with trade active, and a
MC GRATH'S BAD NIGHT 95
fine season for all of us; but I couldn't take
out a raft this winter, and pay what you ask."
"I'd work extra hard. I'm not afeard of
work."
"Not you, Peter. There never was a lazy
bone in your body. Don't I know that well?
But look, now: if I was to pay you thirty, I
should have to pay all the other hewers thirty ;
and that's not all. Scorers and teamsters and
road-cutters are used to getting wages in pro-
portion to hewers. Why, it would cost me a
thousand dollars a month to give you thirty!
Go along, now, that's a good fellow, and tell
your wife that you've hired with me."
But Peter did not go back. "I'm bound to
have my rights, so I am," he said sulkily to
Mary Ann when he reached the cabin. "The
old boss is getting too hard like, and set on
money. Twenty- two dollars! No! I'll go in
to Stambrook and hire."
Mary Ann knew that she might as well try
to convince a saw-log that its proper course
was up-stream, as to protest against Peter's
obstinacy. Moreover, she did think the offered
wages very low, and had some hope he might
better himself; but when he came back from
Stambrook, she saw trouble ahead. He did
96 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
not tell her that there, where his merits were
not known, he had been offered only twenty
dollars, but she surmised his disappointment.
"You'd better be after seeing the boss again,
maybe, Peter dear," she said timidly.
"Not a step," he answered. "The boss'll be
after me in a few days, you'll see." But there
he was mistaken, for all the gangs were full.
After that Peter McGrath tramped far and
wide, to many a backwoods hamlet, looking
vainly for a job at any wages. The season was
the worst ever known on the river, and before
January the shanties were discharging men,
so threatening was the outlook for lumbermen,
and so glutted with timber the markets of the
world.
Peter's conscience accused him every hour,
but he was too stubborn to go back to John
Pontiac. Indeed, he soon got it into his stupid
head that the old boss was responsible for his
misfortunes, and he consequently came to hate
Mr. Pontiac very bitterly.
After supping on his pipeful of tobacco-
dust, Peter sat, straight-backed, leaning elbows
on knees and chin on hands, wondering what on
earth was to become of them all next day. For
a man out of work there was not a dollar of
MC GRATH'S BAD NIGHT 97
credit at the little village store ; and work ! why,
there was only one kind of work at which
money could be earned in that district in the
winter.
When his wife took Number Eleven's cradle
into the other room, she heard him, through
the thin partition of upright boards, pasted
over with newspapers, moving round in the
dim red flickering fire-light from the stove-
grating.
The children were all asleep, or pretending
it; Number Ten in the big straw bed, where
she lay always between her parents; Number
Eleven in her cradle beside; Nine crosswise at
the foot ; Eight, Seven, Six, Five, and Four in
the other bed ; One, Two, and Three curled up,
without taking off their miserable garments, on
the "locks" of straw beside the kitchen stove.
Mary Ann knew very well what Peter was
moving round for. She heard him groan, so
low that he did not know he groaned, when he
lifted off the cover of the meal barrel, and
could feel nothing whatever therein. She had
actually beaten the meal out of the cracks to
make that last pot of mush. He knew that all
the fish he had salted down in the summer were
gone, that the flour was all out, that the last
98 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
morsel of the pig had been eaten up long ago ;
but he went to each of the barrels as though he
could not realize that there was really nothing
left. There were four of those low groans.
"O God, help him! do help him! please do!"
she kept saying to herself. Somehow, all her
sufferings and the children's were light to
her, in comparison, as she listened to that big,
taciturn man groan, and him sore with the
hunger.
When at last she came out, Peter was not
there. He had gone out silently, so silently
that she wondered, and was scared. She
opened the door very softly, and there he was,
leaning on the rail fence between their little
rocky plot and the great river. She closed the
door softly, and sat down.
There was a wide steaming space in the river,
where the current ran too swiftly for any ice
to form. Peter gazed on it for a long while.
The mist had a friendly look; he was soon re-
minded of the steam from an immense bowl of
mush! It vexed him. He looked up at the
moon. The moon was certainly mocking him ;
dashing through light clouds, then jumping
into a wide, clear space, where it soon became
motionless, and mocked him steadily.
MC GRATH'S BAD NIGHT 99
He had never known old John Pontiac to
jeer any one, but there was his face in that
moon, — Peter made it out quite clearly. He
looked up the road to where he could see, on
the hill half a mile distant, the shimmer of John
Pontiac's big tin-roofed house. He thought
he could make out the outlines of all the build-
ings,— he knew them so well, — the big barn,
the stable, the smoke-house, the store-house for
shanty supplies.
Pork barrels, flour barrels, herring kegs,
syrup kegs, sides of frozen beef, hams and
flitches of bacon in the smoke-house, bags of
beans, chests of tea, — he had a vision of them
all! Teamsters going off to the woods daily
with provisions, the supply apparently inex-
haustible.
And John Pontiac had refused to pay him
fair wages !
Peter in exasperation shook his big fist at
the moon; it mocked him worse than ever.
Then out went his gaze to the space of mist;
it was still more painfully like mush steam.
His pigsty was empty, except of snow ; it made
him think again of the empty barrels in the
cabin.
The children empty too, or would be to-
100 OLD MAN SAVABIN STORIES
morrow, — as empty as he felt that minute.
How dumbly the elder ones would reproach
him! and what would comfort the younger
ones crying with hunger?
Peter looked again up the hill, through the
walls of the store-house. He was dreadfully
hungry.
"John ! John !" Mrs. Pontiac jogged her hus-
band. "John, wake up! there's somebody
trying to get into the smoke-house."
"Eh — ugh — ah! I'm 'sleep — ugh." Here-
lapsed again.
"John! John! wake up! There is some-
body!"
"What — ugh — eh — what you say?"
"There's somebody getting into the smoke-
house."
"Well, there's not much there."
"There's ever so much bacon and ham. Then
there's the store-house open."
"Oh, I guess there's nobody."
"But there is, I'm sure. You must get up!"
They both got up and looked out of the win-
dow. The snow-drifts, the paths through
them, the storehouse, the smoke-house, and the
other white-washed out-buildings could be seen
MC GRATH'S BAD NIGHT 101
as clearly as in broad day. The smoke-house
door was open !
Old John Pontiac was one of the kindest
souls that ever inhabited a body, but this was a
little too much. Still he was sorry for the man,
no matter who, in that smoke-house, — some
Indian probably. He must be caught and dealt
with firmly ; but he did not want the man to be
too much hurt.
He put on his clothes and sallied forth. He
reached the smoke-house; there was no one in
it; there was a gap, though, where two long
flitches of bacon had been!
John Pontiac's wife saw him go over to the
store-house, the door of which was open too.
He looked in, then stopped, and started back
as if in horror. Two flitches tied together with
a rope were on the floor, and inside was a man
filling a bag with flour from a barrel.
"Well, well! this is a terrible thing,'* said
old John Pontiac to himself, shrinking around
a corner. "Peter McGrath ! Oh, my ! oh, my 1"
He became hot all over, as if he had done
something disgraceful himself. There was
nobody that he respected more than that pig-
headed Peter. What to do? He must punish
him of course; but how? Jail? — for him with
102 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
eleven children ! "Oh, my ! oh, my !" Old John
wished he had not been awakened to see this
terrible downfall.
"It will never do to let him go off with it,"
he said to himself after a little reflection. "I'll
put him so that he'll know better another
time."
Peter McGrath, as he entered the store-
house, had felt that bacon heavier than the
heaviest end of the biggest stick of timber he
had ever helped to cant. He felt guilty, sneak-
ing, disgraced; he felt that the literal Devil
had first tempted him near the house, then all
suddenly — with his own hunger pangs and
thoughts of his starving family — swept him
into the smoke-house to steal. But he had con-
sented to do it ; he had said he would take flour
too, — and he would, he was so obstinate ! And
withal, he hated old John Pontiac worse than
ever; for now he accused him of being the
cause of his coming to this.
Then all of a sudden he met the face of Pon-
tiac looking in at the door.
Peter sprang back; he saw Stambrook jail
— he saw his eleven children and his wife — he
felt himself a detected felon, and that was worst
of all.
MC GRATH'S BAD NIGHT 103
"Well, Peter, you'd ought to have come
right in," were the words that came to his ears,
in John Pontiac's heartiest voice. "The missis
would have been glad to see you. We did go
to bed a bit early, but there wouldn't have been
any harm in an old neighbor like you waking
us up. Not a word of that — hold on ! listen to
me. It would be a pity if old friends like you
and me, Peter, couldn't help one another to a
trifling loan of provisions without making a
fuss over it." And old John, taking up the
scoop, went on filling the bag as if that were a
matter of course.
Peter did not speak ; he could not.
"I was going round to your place to-mor-
row," resumed John, cheerfully, "to see if I
couldn't hire you again. There's a job of hew-
ing for you in the Conlonge shanty, — a man
gone off sick. But I can't give more'n twenty-
two, or say twenty-three, seeing you're an old
neighbor. What do you say?"
Peter still said nothing ; he was choking.
"You had better have a bit of something
more than bacon and flour, Peter," he went on,
"and I'll give you a hand to carry the truck
home. I guess your wife won't mind seeing
me with you ; then she'll know that you've taken
104 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
a job with me again, you see. Come along and
give me a hand to hitch the mare up. I'll drive
you down."
"Ah — ah — Boss — Boss!" spoke Peter then,
with terrible gasps between. "Boss — O, my
God, Mr. Pontiac — I can't never look you in
the face again !"
"Peter McGrath — old neighbor,"- - and
John Pontiac laid his hand on the shaking
shoulder, — "I guess I know all about it; I
guess I do. Sometimes a man is driven he don't
know how. Now we will say no more about it.
I'll load up, and you come right along with me.
And mind, I'll do the talking to your wife."
Mary Ann McGrath was in a terrible frame
of mind. What had become of Peter?
She had gone out to look down the road, and
had been recalled by Number Eleven's crying.
Number Ten then chimed in ; Nine, too, awoke,
and determined to resume his privileges as an
infant. One after another they got up and
huddled around her — craving, craving, — all
but the three eldest, who had been well prac-
tised in the stoical philosophy by the gradual
decrease of their rations. But these bounced
up suddenly at the sound of a grand jangle of
bells.
MCGRATH'S BAD NIGHT 105
Could it be ? Mr. Pontiac they had no doubt
about; but was that real bacon that he laid on
the kitchen table? Then a side of beef, a can
of tea ; next a bag of flour, and again an actual
keg of sirup. Why, this was almost incredible !
And, last, he came in with an immense round
loaf of bread ! The children gathered about it ;
old John almost sickened with sorrow for them,
and hurrying out his jackknife, passed big
hunks around.
"Well, now, Mrs. McGrath," he said during
these operations, "I don't hardly take it kindly
of you and Peter not to have come up to an old
neighbor's house before this for a bit of a loan.
It's well I met Peter to-night. Maybe he'd
never have told me your troubles — not but
what I blame myself for not suspecting how it
was a bit sooner. I just made him take a little
loan for the present. No, no ; don't be talking
like that! Charity! tut! tut! it's just an ad-
vance of wages. I've got a job for Peter; he'll
be on pay to-morrow again."
At that Mary Ann burst out crying again.
"Oh, God bless you, Mr. Pontiac! it's a kind
man you are! May the saints be about your
bed!"
With that she ran out to Peter, who still
106 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
stood by the sleigh; she put the baby in his
arms, and clinging to her husband's shoulder,
cried more and more.
And what did obstinate Peter McGrath do?
Why, he cried, too, with gasps and groans that
seemed almost to kill him.
"Go in," he said; "go in, Mary Ann — go in
— and kiss — the feet of him. Yes — and the
boards — he stands on. You don't know what
he's done — for me. It's broke I am — the bad
heart of me — broke entirely — with the good-
ness of him. May the heavens be his bed!"
"Now, Mrs. McGrath," cried old John,
"never you mind Peter ; he's a bit light-headed
to-night. Come away in and get a bite for him.
I'd like a dish of tea myself before I go home."
Didn't that touch on her Irish hospitality bring
her in quickly !
"Mind you this, Peter," said the old man,
going out then, "don't you be troubling your
wife with any little secrets about to-night;
that's between you and me. That's all I ask
of you."
Thus it comes about that to this day, when
Peter McGrath's fifteen children have helped
him to become a very prosperous farmer, his
wife does not quite understand the depth of
MC GRATH'S BAD NIGHT 107
worship with which he speaks of old John Pon-
tiac.
Mrs. Pontiac never knew the story of the
night.
"Never mind who it was, Jane," John said,
turning out the light, on returning to bed, "ex-
cept this, — it was a neighbor in sore trouble."
"Stealing — and you helped him! Well,
John, such a man as you are !"
"Jane, I don't ever rightly know what kind
of a man I might be, suppose hunger was cruel
on me, and on you, and all of us ! Let us bless
God that he's saved us from the terriblest
temptations, and thank him most especially
when he inclines our hearts — inclines our hearts
—that's all."
SHINING CROSS OF RIGAUD
WHEN Mini was a fortnight old his mother
wrapped her head and shoulders in her ragged
shawl, snatched him from the family litter of
straw, and, with a volley of cautionary objur-
gations to his ten brothers and sisters, strode
angrily forth into the raw November weather.
She went down the hill to the edge of the
broad, dark Ottawa, where thin slices of ice
were swashing together. There sat a hopeless-
looking little man at the clumsy oars of a flat-
bottomed boat.
"The little one's feet are out," said the man.
"So much the better! For what was another
sent us?" cried Mini's mother.
"But the little one must be baptized," said
the father, with mild expostulation.
"Give him to me, then," and the man took
off his own ragged coat. Beneath it he had
nothing except an equally ragged guernsey,
and the wind was keen. The woman surren-
dered the child carelessly, and drawing her
shawl closer, sat frowning moodily in the stern.
108
SHINING CROSS OF RIGAUD 109
Mini's father wrapped him in the wretched
garment, carefully laid the infant on the pea-
straw at his feet, and rowed wearily away.
They took him to the gray church on the far-
ther shore, whose tall cross glittered coldly in
the wintry sun. There Madame Lajeunesse,
the skilful washerwoman, angry to be taken so
long from her tubs, and Bonhomme Hamel,
who never did anything but fish for barbotes,
met them. These highly respectable connec-
tions of Mini's mother had a disdain for her
inferior social status, and easily made it under-
stood that nothing but a Christian duty would
have brought them out. Where else, indeed,
could the friendless infant have found spon-
sors? It was disgraceful, they remarked, that
the custom of baptism at three days old should
have been violated. While they answered for
Mini's spiritual development he was quiet,
neither crying nor smiling till the old priest
crossed his brow. Then he smiled, and that,
Bonhomme Hamel remarked, was a blessed
sign.
"Now he's sure of heaven when he does die!"
cried Mini's mother, getting home again, and
tossed him down on the straw, for a conclusion
to her sentence.
110 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
But the child lived, as if by miracle. Hun-
ger, cold, dirt, abuse, still left him a feeble
vitality. At six years old his big dark eyes
wore so sad a look that mothers of merry chil-
dren often stopped to sigh over him, frighten-
ing the child, for he did not understand sym-
pathy. So unresponsive and dumb was he that
they called him half-witted. Three babies
younger than he had died by then, and the
fourth was little Angelique. They said she
would be very like Mini, and there was reason
why in her wretched infancy. Mini's was the
only love she ever knew. When she saw the
sunny sky his weak arms carried her, and many
a night he drew over her the largest part of his
deplorable coverings. She, too, was strangely
silent. For days long they lay together on the
straw, quietly suffering what they had known
from the beginning. It was something near
starvation.
When Mini was eight years old his mother
sent him one day to beg food from Madame
Leclaire, whose servant she had been long ago.
"It's Lucile's Mini," said Madame, taking
him to the door of the cosey sitting-room, where
Monsieur sat at solitaire.
"Mon Dieu, did one ever see such a child!"
SHINING CROSS OF RIGAUD 111
cried the retired notary. "For the love of
Heaven, feed him well, Marie, before you let
him go!"
But Mini could scarcely eat. He trembled
at the sight of so much food, and chose a crust
as the only thing familiar.
"Eat, my poor child. Have no fear," said
Madame.
"But Angelique," said he.
"Angelique? Is it the baby?"
"Yes, Madame, if I might have something
for her."
"Poor little loving boy," said Madame, tears
in her kind eyes. But Mini did not cry ; he had
known so many things so much sadder.
When Mini reached home his mother seized*
the basket. Her wretched children crowded
around. There were broken bread and meat
in plenty. "Here — here — and here 1" She dis-
tributed crusts, and chose a well-fleshed bone
for her own teeth. Angelique could not walk,
and did not cry, so got nothing. Mini, how-
ever, went to her with the tin pail before his
mother noticed it.
"Bring that back !" she shouted.
"Quick, baby!" cried Mini, holding it that
Angelique might drink. But the baby was not
112 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
quick enough. Her mother seized the pail and
tasted; the milk was still almost warm.
"Good," said she, reaching for her shawl.
"For the love of God, mother!" cried Mini,
"Madame said it was for Angelique." He
knew too well what new milk would trade
for. The woman laughed and flung on her
shawl.
"Only a little, then; only a cupful," cried
Mini, clutching her, struggling weakly to re-
strain her. "Only a little cupful for Ange-
lique."
"Give her bread !" She struck him so that he
reeled, and left the cabin. Then Mini cried,
but not for the blow.
He placed a soft piece of bread and a thin
shred of meat in Angelique's thin little hand,
but she could not eat, she was so weak. The
elder children sat quietly devouring their food,
each ravenously eyeing that of the others. But
there was so much that when the father came
he also could eat. He, too, offered Angelique
bread. Then Mini lifted his hand which held
hers, and showed beneath the food she had re-
fused.
"If she had milk!" said the boy.
"My God, if I could get some," groaned the
SHINING CROSS OF RIGAUD 113
man, and stopped as a shuffling and tumbling
was heard at the door.
"She is very drunk," said the man, without
amazement. He helped her in, and, too far
gone to abuse them, she soon lay heavily breath-
ing near the child she had murdered.
Mini woke in the pale morning thinking
Angelique very cold in his arms, and, behold,
she was free from all the suffering forever. So
he could not cry, though the mother wept when
she awoke, and shrieked at his tearlessness as
hardhearted.
Little Angelique had been rowed across the
great river for the last time; night was come
again, and Mini thought he must die; it could
not be that he should be made to live without
Angelique ! Then a wondrous thing seemed to
happen. Little Angelique had come back. He
could not doubt it next morning, for, with the
slowly lessening glow from the last brands of
fire had not her face appeared? — then her
form? — and lo! she was closely held in the arms
of the mild Mother whom Mini knew from her
image in the church, only she smiled more
sweetly now in the hut. Little Angelique had
learned to smile, too, which was most wonder-
ful of all to Mini. In their heavenly looks was
114 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
a meaning of which he felt almost aware; a
mysterious happiness was coming close and
closer; with the sense of ineffable touches near
his brow, the boy dreamed. Nothing more did
Mini know till his mother's voice woke him in
the morning. He sprang up with a cry of
"Angelique," and gazed round upon the fa-
miliar squalor.
II
FROM the summit of Rigaud Mountain a
mighty cross flashes sunlight all over the great
plain of Vaudreuil. The devout habitant, as-
cending from vale to hill-top in the county of
Deux Montagnes, bends to the sign he sees
across the forest leagues away. Far off on the
brown Ottawa, beyond the Cascades of Caril-
lon and the Chute a Blondeau, the keen-eyed
voyageur catches its gleam, and, for gladness
to be nearing the familiar mountain, more
cheerily raises the chanson he loves. Near St.
Placide the early ploughman — while yet mist
wreathes the fields and before the native Ros-
signol has fairly begun his plaintive flourishes
— watches the high cross of Rigaud for the first
glint that shall tell him of the yet unrisen sun.
The wayfarer marks his progress by the bear-
SHINING CROSS OF RIGAUD 115
ing of that great cross, the hunter looks to it
for an unfailing landmark, the weatherwise
farmer prognosticates from its appearances.
The old watch it dwindle from sight at evening
with long thoughts of the well-beloved van-
ished, who sighed to its vanishing through van-
ished years; the dying turn to its beckoning
radiance ; happy is the maiden for whose bridal
it wears brightness ; blessed is the child thought
to be that holds out tiny hands for the glitter-
ing cross as for a star. Even to the most
worldly it often seems flinging beams of heaven,
and to all who love its shining that is a dark
day when it yields no reflection of immortal
meaning.
To Mini the Cross of Rigaud had as yet been
no more than an indistinct glimmering, so far
from it did he live and so dulled was he by his
sufferings. It promised him no immortal joys,
for how was he to conceive of heaven except as
a cessation of weariness, starvation, and pain?
Not till Angelique had come in the vision did
he gain certainty that in heaven she would
smile on him always from the mild Mother's
arms. As days and weeks passed without that
dream's return, his imagination was ever the
more possessed by it. Though the boy looked
116 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
frailer than ever, people often remarked with
amazement how his eyes wore some unspeak-
able happiness.
Now it happened that one sunny day after
rain Mini became aware that his eyes were
fixed on the Cross of Rigaud. He could not
make out its form distinctly, but it appeared to
thrill toward him. Under his intent watching
the misty cross seemed gradually to become the
centre of such a light as had enwrapped the
figures of his dream. While he gazed, expect-
ing his vision of the night to appear in broad
day on the far summit, the light extended,
changed, rose aloft, assumed clear tints, and
shifted quickly to a great rainbow encircling
the hill.
Mini believed it a token to him. That Ange-
lique had been there by the cross the little
dreamer doubted not, and the transfiguration
to that arch of glory had some meaning that
his soul yearned to apprehend. The cross drew
his thoughts miraculously; for days thereafter
he dwelt with its shining; more and more it was
borne in on him that he could always see dimly
the outline of little Angelique's face there;
sometimes, staring very steadily for minutes
together, he could even believe that she beck-
oned and smiled.
SHINING CROSS OF RIGAUD 117
"Is Angelique really there, father?" he asked
one day, looking toward the hill-top.
"Yes, there," answered his father, thinking
the boy meant heaven.
"I will go to her, then," said Mini to his
heart.
Birds were not stirring when Mini stepped
from the dark cabin into gray dawn, with firm
resolve to join Angelique on the summit. The
Ottawa, with whose flow he went toward
Rigaud, was solemnly shrouded in motionless
mist, which began to roll slowly during the first
hour of his journey. Lifting, drifting, cling-
ing, ever thinner and more pervaded by sun-
light, it was drawn away so that the unruffled
flood reflected a sky all blue when he had been
two hours on the road. But Mini took no note
of the river's beauty. His eyes were fixed on
the cloudy hilltop, beyond which the sun was
climbing. As yet he could see nothing of the
cross, nor of his vision ; yet the world had never
seemed so glad, nor his heart so light with joy.
Habitants., in their rattling caleches, were
amazed by the glow in the face of a boy so
ragged and forlorn. Some told afterward how
they had half doubted the reality of his rags;
118 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
for might not one, if very pure at heart, have
been privileged to see such garments of appar-
ent meanness change to raiment of angelic tex-
ture? Such things had been, it was said, and
certainly the boy's face was a marvel.
His look was ever upward to where fibrous
clouds shifted slowly, or packed to level bands
of mist half concealing Rigaud Hill, as the sun
wheeled higher, till at last, in mid-sky, it flung
rays that trembled on the cross, and gradually
revealed the holy sign outlined in upright and
arms. Mini shivered with an awe of expecta-
tion; but no nimbus was disclosed which his
imagination could shape to glorious signifi-
cance. Yet he went rapturously onward, firm
in the belief that up there he must see Ange-
lique face to face.
As he journeyed the cross gradually lessened
in height by disappearance behind the nearer
trees, till only a spot of light was left, which
suddenly was blotted out too. Mini drew a
deep breath, and became conscious of the great-
ness of the hill, — a towering mass of brown
rock, half hidden by sombre pines and the deli-
cate greenery of birch and poplar. But soon,
because the cross was hidden, he could figure it
all the more gloriously, and entertain all the
SHINING CROSS OF RIGAUD 119
more luminously the belief that there were
heavenly presences awaiting him. He pressed
on with all his speed, and began to ascend the
mountain early in the afternoon.
"Higher," said the women gathering pearly-
bloomed blueberries on the steep hillside.
"Higher," said the path, ever leading the tired
boy upward from plateau to plateau, — "higher,
to the vision and the radiant space about the
shining cross!"
Faint with hunger, worn with fatigue, in the
half -trance of physical exhaustion, Mini still
dragged himself upward through the after-
noon. At last he knew he stood on the summit
level very near the cross. There the child, awed
by the imminence of what he had sought, halted
to control the rapturous, fearful trembling of
his heart. Would not the heavens surely open?
What words would Angelique first say? Then
again he went swiftly forward through the
trees to the edge of the little cleared space.
There he stood dazed.
The cross was revealed to him at a few yards'
distance. With woful disillusionment Mini
threw himself face downward on the rock, and
wept hopelessly, sorely ; wept and wept, till his
sobs became fainter than the up-borne long
120 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
notes of a hermit-thrush far below on the edge
of the plain.
A tall mast, with a shorter at right angles,
both covered by tin roofing-plates, held on by
nails whence rust had run in streaks, — that was
the shining Cross of Rigaud! Fragments of
newspaper, crusts of bread, empty tin cans,
broken bottles, the relics of many picnics scat-
tered widely about the foot of the cross; rude
initial letters cut deeply into its butt where the
tin had been torn away ; — these had Mini seen.
The boy ceased to move. Shadows stole
slowly lengthening over the Vaudreuil cham-
paign; the sun swooned down in a glamour of
painted clouds; dusk covered from sight the
yellows and browns and greens of the August
fields; birds stilled with the deepening night;
Rigaud Mountain loomed from the plain, a
dark long mass under a flying and waning
moon; stars came out from the deep spaces
overhead, and still Mini lay where he had wept.
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE
PINNAGER was on snow-shoes, making a bee-
line toward his field of sawlogs dark on the ice
of Wolverine River. He crossed shanty roads,
trod heaps of brush, forced his way through the
tops of felled pines, jumped from little crags
into seven feet of snow — Pinnager's men called
him "a terror on snow-shoes." They never
knew the direction from which he might come
— an ignorance which kept them all busy with
axe, saw, cant-hook, and horses over the two
square miles of forest comprising his "cut."
It was "make or break" with Pinnager. He
had contracted to put on the ice all the logs he
might make ; for every one left in the woods he
must pay stumpage and forfeit. Now his axe-
men had done such wonders that Pinnager's
difficulty was to get his logs hauled out.
Teams were scarce that winter. The shanty
was eighty miles from any settlement; ordinary
teamsters were not eager to work for a small
speculative jobber, who might or might not be
able to pay in the spring. But Pinnager had
some extraordinary teamsters, sons of farmers
121
122 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
who neighbored him at home, and who were
sure he would pay them, though he should have
to mortgage his land.
The time was late February; seven feet of
snow, crusted, on the level ; a thaw might turn
the whole forest floor to slush; but if the
weather should "hold hard" for six weeks
longer, Pinnager might make and not break.
Yet the chances were heavily against him.
Any jobber so situated would feel vexed on
hearing that one of his best teams had suddenly
been taken out of his service. Pinnager, cross-
ing a shanty road with the stride of a moose,
was hailed by Jamie Stuart with the news :
"Hey, boss, hold on! Davie McAndrews'
leg's broke. His load slewed at the side hill-
log catched him against a tree."
"Where is he?" shouted Pinnager furiously.
"Carried him to shanty."
"Where are his horses?"
"Stable."
"Tell Aleck Dunbar to go get them out. He
must take Davie's place — confound the lad's
carelessness !"
"Davie says no; won't let any other man
drive his horses."
"He won't? I'll show him!" and Pinnager
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE 123
made a bee-line for his shanty. He was chok-
ing with rage, all the more so because he knew
that nothing short of breaking Davie McAn-
drews' neck would break Davie McAndrews'
stubbornness, a reflection that cooled Pinnager
before he reached the shanty.
The cook was busy about the caboose fire,
getting supper for fifty-three devourers, when
Pinnager entered the low door, and made
straight for one of the double tier of dingy
bunks. There lay a youth of eighteen, with an
unusual pallor on his weather-beaten face, and
more than the usual sternness about his for-
midable jaw.
"What's all this, Davie? You sure the leg's
broke? I'd 'a thought you old enough to take
care."
"You would?" said Davie grimly. "And
yourself not old enough to have yon piece of
road mended — you that was so often told about
it!"
"When you knew it was bad, the more you
should take care."
"And that's true, Pinnager. But no use in
you and me choppin' words. I'm needing a
doctor's hands on me. Can you set a bone?"
"No, I'll not meddle with it. Maybe Jock
124 OLD MAN SAVAHIN STORIES
Scott can ; but I'll send you out home. A fine
loss I'll be at! Confound it — and me like to
break for want of teams!"
"I've thocht o' yer case, Pinnager," said
Davie, with a curious judicial air. "It's sore
hard for ye; I ken that well. There's me and
me f eyther's horses gawn off, and you countin'
on us. I feel for ye, so I do. But I'll no put
you to ony loss in sendin' me out."
"Was you thinking to tough it through here,
Davie ? No, you'll not chance it. Anyway, the
loss would be the same — more, too. Why, if
I send out for the doctor, there's a team off for
full five days, and the expense of the doctor!
Then he mightn't come. Wow, no ! it's out you
must go."
"What else?" said Davie coolly. "Would I
lie here till spring and my leg mendin' into the
Lord kens what-like shape ? Would I be lettin'
ony ither drive the horses my feyther entrustit
to my lone? Would I be dependin' on Mr.
Pinnager for keep, and me idle? Man, I'd eat
the horses' heads off that way; at home they'd
be profit to my feyther. So it's me and them
that starts at gray the morn's morn."
"Alone!" exclaimed Pinnager.
"Just that, man. What for no?"
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE 125
"You're light-headed, Davie. A lad with his
leg broke can't drive three days."
"Maybe yes and maybe no. I'm for it, ony-
how." "
"It may snow, it may "
"Aye, or rain, or thaw, or hail; the Lord's no
in the habit o' makin' weather suit ony but him-
sel'. But I'm gawn; the cost of a man wi' me
would eat the wages ye 're owing my feyther."
"I'll lose his team, anyhow," said Pinnager,
"and me needing it bad. A driver with you
could bring back the horses."
"Nay, my feyther will trust his beasts to
nane but himsel' or his sons. But I'll have yer
case in mind, Pinnager; it's a sore needcessity
you're in. I'll ask my feyther to send back the
team, and another to the tail of it ; it's like that
Tarn and Neil will be home by now. And I'll
spread word how ye're needin' teams, Pinna-
ger ; it's like your neighbors will send ye in sax
or eight spans."
"Man, that's a grand notion, Davie! But
you can't go alone; it's clean impossible."
"I'm gawn, Pinnager."
"You can't turn out in seven feet of snow
when you meet loading. You can't water or
feed your horses. There's forty miles the sec-
126 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
ond day, and never a stopping-place; your
horses can't stand it."
"I'm wae for the beasts, Pinnager; but
they'll have no force but to travel dry and hun-
gry if that's set for them."
"You're bound to go?"
"Div you tak' me for an id jit to be talkin'
and no meanin' it ? Off wi' ye, man ! The leg's
no exactly a comfort when I'm talkin'."
"Why, Davie, it must be hurting you terri-
ble!" Pinnager had almost forgotten the
broken leg, such was Davie's composure.
"It's no exactly a comfort, I said. Get you
gone, Pinnager ; your men may be idlin'. Get
you gone, and send in Jock Scott, if he's man
enough to handle my leg. I'm wearyin' just
now for my ain company."
As Davie had made his programme, so it
stood. His will was inflexible to protests.
Next morning at dawn they set him on a hay-
bed in his low, unboxed sleigh. A bag of oats
supported his back; his unhurt leg was braced
against a piece of plank spiked down. Jock
Scott had pulled the broken bones into what
he thought their place, and tied that leg up in
splints of cedar.
The sleigh was enclosed by stakes, four on
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE 127
each side, all tied together by stout rope. The
stake at Davie's right hand was shortened, that
he might hang his reins there. His water-
bucket was tied to another stake, and his bag
of provisions to a third. He was warm in a
coon-skin coat, and four pairs of blankets under
or over him.
At the last moment Pinnager protested: "I
must send a man to drive. It sha'n't cost you a
cent, Da vie."
"Thank you, kindly, Pinnager," said Davie
gravely. "I'll tell that to your credit at the
settlement. But ye're needin' all your help,
and I'd take shame to worsen your chances.
My feyther's horses need no drivin' but my
word."
Indeed, they would "gee," "haw," or "whoa"
like oxen, and loved his voice. Round-bar-
relled, deep-breathed, hardy, sure-footed, ac-
tive, gentle, enduring, brave, and used to the
exigencies of "bush roads," they would take
him through safely if horses' wit could.
Davie had uttered never a groan after those
involuntary ones forced from him when the
log, driving his leg against a tree, had made
him almost unconscious. But the pain-sweat
stood beaded on his face during the torture of
128 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
carrying him to the sleigh. Not a sound from
his lips, though! They could guess his suffer-
ings from naught but his hard breathing
through the nose, that horrible sweat, and the
iron set of his jaw. After they had placed him,
the duller agony that had kept him awake all
night returned; he smiled grimly, and said,
"That's a comfort."
He had eaten and drunk heartily ; he seemed
strong still; but what if his sleigh should turn
over at some sidling place of the rude, lonely,
and hilly forest road?
As Davie chirruped to his horses and was off,
the men gave him a cheer; then Pinnager and
all went away to labor fit for mighty men, and
the swinging of axes and the crashing of huge
pines and the tumbling of logs from rollways
left them fancy-free to wonder how Davie could
ever brace himself to save his broken leg at the
cahots.
The terrible cahots — plunges in snow-roads !
But for them Davie would have suffered little
more than in a shanty bunk. The track was
mostly two smooth ruts separated by a ridge
so high and hard that the sleigh-bottom often
slid on it. Horses less sure-footed would have
staggered much, and bitten crossly at one an-
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE 129
other while trotting in those deep, narrow ruts,
but Davie's horses kept their "jog" amiably,
tossing their heads with glee to be traveling to-
ward home.
The clink of trace-chains, the clack of har-
ness, the glide of runners on the hard, dry
snow, the snorting of the frosty-nosed team,
the long whirring of startled grouse — Davie
heard only these sounds, and heard them
dreamily in the long, smooth flights between
cahots.
Overhead the pine tops were a dark canopy
with little fields of clear blue seen through the
rifts of green ; on the forest floor small firs bent
under rounding weights of snow which often
slid off as if moved by the stir of partridge
wings ; the fine tracery of hemlocks stood clean ;
and birches snuggled in snow that mingled with
their curling rags. Sometimes a breeze eddied
downward in the aisles, and then all the under-
growth was a silent commotion of snow, shaken
and falling. Davie's eyes noted all things un-
consciously; in spite of his pain he felt the en-
chantment of the winter woods until — another
cdhot! he called his team to walk.
Never was one cahot without many in suc-
cession; he gripped his stake hard at each,
130 OLD MAN SAVABIN STORIES
braced his sound leg, and held on, feeling like
to die with the horrible thrust of the broken
one forward and then back; yet always his
will ordered his desperate senses.
Eleven o'clock! Davie drew up before the
half-breed Peter Whiteduck's midwood stop-
ping-place, and briefly explained his situation.
"Give my horses a feed," he went on.
"There's oats in this bag. I'll no be moved
mysel'. Maybe you'll fetch me a tin of tea;
I've got my own provisions." So he ate and
drank in the zero weather.
"You'll took lil' drink of whiskey," said
Peter, with commiseration, as Davie was start-
ing away.
"I don't use it."
"You'll got for need some 'fore you'll see de
Widow Green place. Dass twenty-tree mile."
"I will need it, then," said Davie, and was
away.
Evening had closed in when the bunch of
teamsters awaiting supper at Widow Green's
rude inn heard sleigh-bells, and soon a shout
outside :
"Come out, some one!"
That was an insolence in the teamsters' code.
Come out, indeed! The Widow Green, bust-
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE 131
ling about with fried pork, felt outraged. To
be called out ! — of her own house ! — like a dog !
— not she !
"Come out here, somebody!" Davie shouted
again.
"G' out and break his head one of you," said
fighting Moses Frost. "To be shoutin' like a
lord !" Moses was too great a personage to go
out and wreak vengeance on an unknown.
Narcisse Larocque went — to thrash anybody
would be glory for Narcisse, and he felt sure
that Moses would not, in these circumstances,
let anybody thrash him.
"What for you shout lak' dat? Call mans
hout, hey?" said Narcisse. "I'll got good mind
for broke your head, me!"
"Hi, there, men!" Davie ignored Narcisse
as he saw figures through the open door.
"Some white man come out. My leg's broke."
Oh, then the up-jumping of big men ! Moses,
striding forth, ruthlessly shoved Narcisse, who
lay and cowered with legs up as a dog trying
to placate an angry master. Then Moses car-
ried Davie in as gently as if the young stalwart
had been a girl baby, and laid him on the
widow's one spare bed.
That night Davie slept soundly for four
132 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
hours, and woke to consciousness that his leg
was greatly swollen. He made no moan, but
lay in the darkness listening to the heavy
breathing of the teamsters on the floor. They
could do nothing for him ; why should he
awaken them? As for pitying himself, Davie
could do nothing so fruitless. He fell to plans
for getting teams in to Pinnager, for this
young Scot's practical mind was horrified at
the thought that the man should fail financially
when ten horses might give him a fine profit
for his winter's work.
Davie was away at dawn, every slight jolt
giving his swollen leg pain almost unendurable,
as if edges of living bone were griding together
and also tearing cavities in the living flesh ; but
he must endure it, and well too, for the team-
sters had warned him he must meet "strings of
loadin' " this day.
The rule of the long one-tracked road into
the wilderness is, of course, that empty outgo-
ing sleighs shall turn out for incoming laden
ones. Turn out into seven feet of snow ! Davie
trusted that incoming teamsters would handle
his floundering horses, and he set his mind to
plan how they might save him from tumbling
about on his turned-out sleigh.
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE 133
About nine o'clock, on a winding road, he
called, "Whoa!" and his bays stood. A sleigh
piled with baled hay confronted him thirty
yards distant. Four others followed closely;
the load drawn by the sixth team was hidden by
the woodland curve. No teamsters were vis-
ible; they must be walking behind the proces-
sion; and Davie wasted no strength in shout-
ing. On came the laden teams, till the steam
of the leaders mingled with the clouds blown
by his bays. At that halt angry teamsters,
yelling, ran forward and sprang, one by one,
up on their loads, the last to grasp reins being
the leading driver.
"Turn out, you fool!" he shouted. Then to
his comrades behind, "There's a blamed idyit
don't know enough to turn out for loading!"
Davie said nothing. It was not till one an-
gry man was at his horses' heads and two more
about to tumble his sleigh aside that he spoke :
"My leg is broke."
"Gah! G'way! A man driving with his leg
broke! You're lying! Come, get out and
tramp down snow for your horses! It's your
back ought to be broke — stoppin' loadin'!"
"My leg is broke/' Davie calmly insisted.
"You mean it?"
134 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Davie threw off his blankets.
"Begor, it is broke !" "And him drivin' him-
self!" "It's a terror!" "Great spunk en-
tirely !" Then the teamsters began planning to
clear the way.
That was soon settled by Davie's directions :
"Tramp down the crust for my horses ; onhitch
them ; lift my sleigh out on the crust ; pass on ;
then set me back on the road."
Half an hour was consumed by the operation
— thrice repeated before twelve o'clock. For-
tunately Davie came on the last "string" of
teams halted for lunch by the edge of a lake.
The teamsters fed and watered his horses, gave
him hot tea, and with great admiration saw him
start for an afternoon drive of twenty-two
miles.
"You'll not likely meet any teams," they
said. "The last of the 'loading' that's like to
come in soon is with ourselves."
How Davie got down the hills, up the hills,
across the rivers and over the lakes of that ter-
rible afternoon he could never rightly tell.
"I'm thinkin' I was light-heided," he said
afterward. "/The notion was in me somehow
that the Lord was lookin' to me to save Pinna-
ger's bits of children. I'd waken out of it at
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE 135
the cahots — there was mair than enough. On
the smooth my head would be strange-like, and
I mind but the hinder end of my horses till the
moon was high and me stoppit by McGraw's."
During the night at McGraw's his head was
cleared by some hours of sound sleep, and next
morning he insisted on traveling, though snow
was falling heavily.
"My feyther's place is no more than a bit-
tock ayont twenty-eight miles," he said. "I'll
make it by three of the clock, if the Lord's
willin', and get the doctor's hands on me. It's
my leg I'm thinkin' of savin'. And mind ye,
McGraw, you've promised me to send in your
team to Pinnager."
Perhaps people who have never risen out of
bitter poverty will not understand Davie's keen
anxiety about Pinnager and Pinnager's chil-
dren; but the Me Andrews and Pinnagers and
all their neighbors of "the Scotch settlement"
had won up by the tenacious labor and thrift
of many years. Davie remembered well how,
in his early boyhood, he had often craved more
food and covering. Pinnager and his family
should not be thrown back into the gulf of pov-
erty if Davie McAndrews' will could save
them.
136 OLD MAN SAVAKIN STORIES
This day his road lay through a country
thinly settled, but he could see few cabins
through the driving storm. The flagging horses
trotted steadily, as if aware that the road
would become worse the longer they were on it,
but about ten o'clock they inclined to stop
where Davie could dimly see a long house and
a shed with a team and sleigh standing in it.
Drunken yells told him this must be Black
Donald Donaldson's notorious tavern; so he
chirruped his horses onward.
Ten minutes later yells and sleigh-bells were
following him at a furious pace. Davie turned
head and shouted; still the drunken men
shrieked and came on. He looked for a place
to turn out — none! He dared not stop his
horses lest the gallopers, now close behind him,
should be over him and his low sleigh. Now his
team broke into a run at the noises, but the
fresh horses behind sped faster. The men were
hidden from Davie by their crazed horses. He
could not rise to appeal; he could not turn to
daunt the horses with his whip; their front-
hoofs, rising high, were soon within twenty feet
of him. Did his horses slacken, the others
would be on top of him, kicking and tumbling.
The cahots were numerous; his yells for a
DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE 137
halt became so much like screams of agony that
he took shame of them, shut his mouth firmly,
and knew not what to do. Then suddenly his
horses swerved into the cross-road to the Scotch
settlement, while the drunkards galloped away
on the main road, still lashing and yelling.
Davie does not know to this day who the men
were.
Five hours later David McAndrews, the
elder, kept at home by the snowstorm, heard
bells in his lane, and looked curiously out of the
sitting-room window.
"Losh, Janet!" he said, most deliberately.
"I wasna expeckin' Davie; here he's back wi'
the bays."
He did not hurry out to meet his fourth son,
for he is a man who hates the appearance of
haste ; but his wife did, and came rushing back
through the kitchen.
"It's Davie himsel'! He's back wi' his leg
broke ! He's come a' the way by his lone !"
"Hoot-toot, woman! Ye're daft!"
"I'm no daft; come and see yoursel'. Wae's
me, my Davie's like to die! Me daft, indeed!
Ye'll need to send Neil straight awa' to the
village for Doctor Aberdeen."
And so dour Davie's long drive was past.
138 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
While his brother carried him in, his will was
occupied with the torture, but he had scarcely
been laid on his bed when he said, very respect-
fully— but faintly — to his father:
"You'll be sendin' Neil oot for the doctor,
sir? Aye; then I'd be thankfu' if you'd give
Aleck leave to tak' the grays and warn the set-
tlement that Pinnager's needin' teams sorely.
He's like to make or break; if he gets sax or
eight spans in time he's a made man."
That was enough for the men of the Scotch
settlement. Pinnager got all the help he
needed; and yet he is far from as rich to-day
as Davie McAndrews, the great Brazeau River
lumberman, who walks a little lame of his left
leg.
PETHERICK'S PERIL
EACH story of the Shelton Cotton Factory
is fifteen feet between floors; there are seven
such over the basement, and this rises six feet
above the ground. The brick walls narrow to
eight inches as they ascend, and form a parapet
rising above the roof. One of the time-keepers
of the factory, Jack Hardy, a young man
about my own age, often runs along the brick-
work, the practice giving him a singular de-
light that has seemed to increase with his pro-
ficiency in it. Having been a clerk in the
works from the beginning, I have frequently
used the parapet for a footpath, and although
there was a sheer fall of one hundred feet to
the ground, have done it with ease and without
dizziness. Occasionally Hardy and I have run
races, on the opposite walls, an exercise in
which he invariably beats me, because I become
timid with increase of pace.
Hopelessly distanced last Wednesday, while
the men were off at noon, I gave up midway,
and looking down, observed the upturned face
140 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
of an old man gazing at me with parted lips,
wide eyes, and an expression of horror so start-
ling that I involuntarily stepped down to the
bricklayer's platform inside. I then saw that
the apparently frightened spectator was Mr.
Petherick, who had been for some weeks pay-
master and factotum for the contractors.
"What's the matter, Petherick?" I called
down. He made no answer, but walking off
rapidly, disappeared round the mill. Curious
about his demeanor, I descended, and after
some little seeking found him smoking alone.
"You quite frightened me just now, Peth-
erick," said I. "Did you think I was a ghost?"
"Not just that," he replied.
"Did you expect me to fall, then?"
"Not just that, either," said he. The old
man was clearly disinclined to talk, and appar-
ently much agitated. I began to joke him
about his lugubrious expression, when the one
o'clock bell rang, and he shuffled off hastily to
another quarter.
.Though I .puzzled awhile over the incident,
it soon passed so entirely from my mind that I
was surprised when, passing Petherick in the
afternoon, and intending to go aloft, he said,
as I went by :
PETHERICK'S PERIL 141
"Don't do it again, Mr. Frazerl"
"What?" I stopped.
"That!" he retorted.
"Oh! You mean running on the wall,"
said I.
"I mean going on it at all!" he exclaimed.
His earnestness was so marked that I conceived
a strong interest in its cause.
"I'll make a bargain with you, Mr. Peth-
erick. If you tell me why you advise me, I'll
give the thing up !"
"Done !" said he. "Come to my cottage this
evening, and I'll tell you a strange adventure
of my own, though perhaps you'll only laugh
that it's the reason why it sickens me to see you
fooling up there."
Petherick was ready to talk when Jack and
I sat down on his doorsteps that evening, and
immediately launched into the following narra-
tive:
I was born and grew to manhood near the
highest cliffs of the Polvydd coast. Millions
of sea-fowls make their nests along the face of
those wave-worn precipices. My companions
and I used to get much excitement, and some-
times a good deal of pocket money, by taking
142 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
their eggs. One of us, placing his feet in a
loop at the end of a rope and taking a good
grip with his hands, would be lowered by the
others to the nest. When he had his basket full
they'd haul him up and another would go down.
Well, one afternoon I thus went dangling
off. They paid out about a hundred feet of
rope before I touched the ledge and let go.
You must know that most of the cliffs along
that coast overhang the water. At many
points one could drop six hundred feet into the
sea, and then be forty or fifty feet from the
base of the rock he left. The coast is scooped
under by the waves, and in some places the cliff
wall is as though it had been eaten away by seas
once running in on higher levels. There will
be an overhanging coping, then — some hun-
dred feet down — a ledge sticking out farther
than that of the top ; under that ledge all will
be scooped away. In some places there are
three or four such ledges, each projecting far-
ther than those above.
These ledges used to fall away occasionally,
as they 4o yet, I am told, for the ocean is grad-
ually devouring that coast. Where they did
not project farther than the upper coping, the
egg-gatherer would swing like a pendulum on
PETHERICK'S PERIL 143
the rope, and get on the rock, if not too far in,
then put a rock on the loop to hold it till his
return. When a ledge did project so that one
could drop straight on it, he hauled down some
slack and left the rope hanging. Did the wind
never blow it off? Seldom, and never out of
reach.
Well, the ledge I reached was like this. It
was some ten feet wide ; it stuck out maybe six
feet farther than the cliff top; the rock wall
went up pretty near perpendicular, till near
the coping at the ground ; but below the ledge,
the cliff's face was so scooped away that the
sea, five hundred feet below, ran in under it
nigh fifty feet.
As I went down, thousands of birds rose
from the jagged places of the precipice, cir-
cling around me with harsh screams. Soon
touching the ledge, I stepped from the loop,
and drawing down a little slack, walked off
briskly. For fully a quarter of a mile the ledge
ran along the cliff's face almost as level and
even in width as that sidewalk. I remember
fancying that it sloped outward more than
usual, but instantly dismissed the notion,
though Gaffer Pentreath, the oldest man in
that countryside, used to tell us that we should
1 44 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
not get the use of that ledge always. It had
been as steady in our time as in his grand-
father's, and we only laughed at his prophecies.
Yet the place of an old filled fissure was marked
by a line of grass, by tufts of weeds and small
bushes, stretching almost as far as the ledge
itself, and within a foot or so of the cliff's
face.
Eggs were not so many as usual, and I went
a long piece from my rope before turning back.
Then I noticed the very strange conduct of the
hosts of sea-fowls below. Usually there were
hundreds, but now there were millions on the
wing, and instead of darting forth in playful
motions, they seemed to be wildly excited,
screaming shrilly, rushing out as in terror, and
returning in masses as though to alight, only
to wheel in dread and keep the air in vast
clouds.
The weather was beautiful, the sea like glass.
At no great distance were two large brigs and,
nearer, a small yacht lay becalmed, heaving on
the long billows. I could look down her cabin
stairway almost, and it seemed scarcely more
than a long leap to her deck.
Puzzled by the singular conduct of the sea-
birds, I soon stopped and set my back against
BACK AND FORWARD THEY DASHED
PETHERICK'S PERIL 145
the cliff, to rest while watching them. The day
was deadly still and very warm.
I remember taking off my cap and wiping
the sweat from my face and forehead with my
sleeve. While doing this, I looked down in-
voluntarily to the fissure at my feet. Instantly
my blood almost froze with horror! There was
a distinct crack between the inner edge of the
fissure and the hard-packed, root-threaded soil
with which it was filled! Forcibly I pressed
back, and in a flash looked along the ledge. The
fissure was widening under my eyes, the rock
before me seemed sinking outward, and with a
shudder and a groan and roar, the whole long
platform fell crashing to the sea below! I
stood on a margin of rock scarce a foot wide,
at my back a perpendicular cliff, and, five hun-
dred feet below, the ocean, now almost hidden
by the vast concourse of wheeling and af-
frighted birds.
Can you believe that my first sensation was
one of relief? I stood safe! Even a feeling of
interest held me for some moments. Almost
coolly I observed a long and mighty wave roll
out from beneath. It went forth with a high,
curling crest — a solid wall of water ! It struck
the yacht stern on, plunged down on her deck,
146 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
smashed through her swell of sail, and swept
her out of sight forever.
Not till then did my thoughts dwell entirely
on my own position ; not till then did I compre-
hend its hopelessness! Now my eyes closed
convulsively, to shut out the abyss down which
my glance had fallen; shuddering, I pressed
hard against the solid wall at my back; an ap-
palling cold slowly crept through me. My
reason struggled against a wild desire to leap ;
all the demons of despair whispered me to
make an instant end. In imagination I had
leaped! I felt the swooning helplessness of
falling and the cold, upward rush of air !
Still I pressed hard back against the wall of
rock, and though nearly faint from terror,
never forgot for an instant the death at my
feet, nor the utter danger of the slightest mo-
tion. How long this weakness lasted I know
not; I only know that the unspeakable horror
of that first period has come to me in waking
dreams many and many a day since; that I
have long nights of that deadly fear; that to
think of the past is to stand again on that nar-
row foothold ; and to look around on the earth
is often to cry out with joy that it widens away
from my feet.
PETHERICK'S PERIL 147
(The old man paused long. Glancing side-
wise at Jack, I saw that his face was pallid. I
myself had shuddered and grown cold, so
strongly had my imagination realized the aw-
ful experience that Petherick described. At
length he resumed his story:)
Suddenly these words flashed to my brain:
"Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?
And one of them shall not fall on the ground
without your Father. Fear not, therefore ; ye
are of more value than many sparrows." My
faculties were so strained that I seemed to hear
the words. Indeed, often yet I think that I
did truly hear a voice utter them very near me.
Instantly hope arose, consciously desperate
indeed; but I became calm, resourceful, capa-
ble, and felt unaccountably aided. Careful not
to look down, I opened my eyes and gazed far
away over the bright sea. The rippled billows
told that a light outward breeze had sprung up.
Slowly, and somewhat more distant, the two
brigs moved toward the horizon. Turning my
head, I could trace the narrow stone of my
footing to where my rope dangled, perhaps
three hundred yards distant.
It seemed to hang within easy reach of the
cliff's face, and instantly I resolved and as
148 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
instantly proceeded to work toward it. No
time remained for hesitation. Night was com-
ing on. I reasoned that my comrades thought
me killed. They had probably gone to view
the new condition of the precipice from a lower
station, and on their return would haul up and
carry off the rope. I made a move toward it.
Try to think of that journey!
Shuffling sidewise very carefully, I had not
made five yards before I knew that I could not
continue to look out over that abyss without
glancing down, and that I could not glance
down without losing my senses. You have the
brick line to keep eyes on as you walk along
the factory wall; do you think you could move
along it erect, looking down as you would have
to? Yet it is only one hundred feet high.
Imagine five more such walls on top of that
and you trying to move sidewise — incapable
of closing your eyes, forced to look down, from
end to end, yes, three times farther! Imagine
you've got to go on or jump off! Would you
not, in an ecstasy of nervous agitation, fall to
your knees, get down face first at full length,
clutch by your hands, and with your shut eyes
feel your way? I longed to lie down and hold,
but of course that was impossible.
PETHERICK'S PERIL 149
The fact that there was a wall at my back
made it worse ! The cliff seemed to press out-
ward against me. It did, in fact, incline very
slightly outward. It seemed to be thrusting
me off. Oh, the horror of that sensation ! Your
toes on the edge of a precipice, and the impla-
cable, calm mountain apparently weighting
you slowly forward.
(Beads of sweat poured out over his white
face at the horror he had called before him.
Wiping his lips nervously with the back of his
hand, and looking askant, as at the narrow
pathway, he paused long. I saw its cruel edge
and the dark gleams of its abysmal water.)
I knew that with my back to the wall I could
never reach the rope. I could not face toward
it and step forward, so narrow was the ledge.
Motion was perhaps barely possible that way,
but the breadth of my shoulders would have
forced me to lean somewhat more outward, and
this I dared not and could not do. Also, to see
a solid surface before me became an irresistible
desire. I resolved to try to turn round before
resuming the desperate journey. To do this
I had to nerve myself for one steady look at
my footing.
In the depths below the myriad sea-fowl then
150 OLD MAN SAVARIN STOKIES
rested on the black water, which, though swell-
ing more with the rising wind, had yet an un-
broken surface at some little distance from the
precipice, while farther out it had begun to
jump to whitecaps, and in beneath me, where I
could not see, it dashed and churned with a
faint, pervading roar that I could barely distin-
guish. Before the descending sun a heavy bank
of cloud had risen. The ocean's surface bore
that appearance of intense and angry gloom
that often heralds a storm, but, save the deep
murmur going out from far below my perch,
all to my hearing was deadly still.
Cautiously I swung my right foot before the
other and carefully edged around. For an in-
stant as my shoulder rubbed up against the
rock, I felt that I must fall. I did stagger, in
fact, but the next moment stood firm, face to
the beetling cliff, my heels on the very edge,
and the new sensation of the abyss behind me
no less horrible than that from which I had
with such difficulty escaped. I stood quaking.
A delirious horror thrilled every nerve. The
skin about my ears and neck, suddenly cold,
shrank convulsively.
Wild with fear, I thrust forward my head
against the rock and rested in agony. A whir
PETHERICK'S PERIL 151
and wind of sudden wings made me conscious
of outward things again. Then a mad eager-
ness to climb swept away other feeling, and my
hands attempted in vain to clutch the rock.
Not daring to cast my head backward, I drew
it tortoise-like between my raised shoulders,
and chin against the precipice, gazed upward
with straining of vision from under my eye-
brows.
Far above me the dead wall stretched. Side-
wise glances gave me glimpses of the project-
ing summit coping. There was no hope in that
direction. But the distraction of scanning the
cliff-side had given my nerves some relief; to
my memory again returned the promise of the
Almighty and the consciousness of his regard.
Once more my muscles became firm-strung.
A cautious step sidewise made me know how
much I had gained in ease and security of mo-
tion by the change of front. I made progress
that seemed almost rapid for some rods, and
even had exultation in my quick approach to
the rope. Hence came freedom to think how I
should act on reaching it, and speculation as
to how soon my comrades would haul me up.
Then the idea rushed through me that they
might even yet draw it away too soon, that
152 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
while almost in my clutch it might rise from my
hands. Instantly all the terrors of my position
returned with tenfold force ; an outward thrust
of the precipice seemed to grow distinct, my
trembling hands told me that it moved bodily
toward me ; the descent behind me took an un-
speakable remoteness, and from the utmost
depth of that sheer air seemed to ascend stead-
ily a deadly and a chilling wind. But I think
I did not stop for an instant. Instead a de-
lirium to move faster possessed me, and with
quick, sidelong steps — my following foot strik-
ing hard against that before — sometimes on the
point of stumbling, stretched out like the cruci-
fied, I pressed in mortal terror along.
Every possible accident and delay was pre-
sented to my excited brain. What if the ledge
should narrow suddenly to nothing? Now I
believed that my heels were unsupported in air,
and I moved along on tip-toe. Now I was
convinced that the narrow pathway sloped out-
ward, that this slope had become so distinct,
so increasingly distinct, that I might at any
moment slip off into the void. But dominating
every consideration of possible disaster was still
that of the need for speed, and distinct amid
all other terrors was that sensation of the dead
PETHERICK'S PERIL 153
wall ever silently and inexorably pressing me
outward.
My mouth and throat were choked with dry-
ness, my convulsive lips parched and arid;
much I longed to press them against the cold,
moist stone. But I never stopped. Faster,
faster, more wildly I stepped — in a frenzy I
pushed along. Then suddenly before my star-
ing eyes was a well-remembered edge of mossy
stone, and I knew that the rope should be di-
rectly behind me. Was it?
I glanced over my left shoulder. The rope
was not to be seen! Wildly I looked over the
other — no rope! Almighty God! and hast
thou deserted me ?
But what ! Yes, it moves, it sways in sight !
it disappears — to return again to view ! There
was the rope directly at my back, swinging in
the now strong breeze with a motion that had
carried it away from my first hurried glances.
With the relief tears pressed to my eyes and,
face bowed to the precipice, almost forgetful
for a little time of the hungry air beneath, I
offered deep thanks to my God for the deliver-
ance that seemed so near.
(The old man's lips continued to move, but
no sound came from them. We waited silent
154 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
while, with closed eyes and bent head, he re-
mained absorbed in the recollection of that
strange minute of devoutness. It was some
moments before he spoke again:)
I stood there for what now seems a space of
hours, perhaps half a minute in reality. Then
all the chances still to be run crowded upon me.
To turn around had been an attempt almost
desperate, before, and certainly, most certainly,
the ledge was no wider where I now stood.
Was the rope within reach? I feared not.
Would it sway toward me? I could hope for
that.
But could I grasp it should I be saved?
Would it not yield to my hand, coming slowly
down as I pulled, unrolling from a coil above,
trailing over the ground at the top, running
fast as its end approached the edge, falling sud-
denly at last? Or was it fastened to the ac-
customed stake? Was any comrade near who
would summon aid at my signal? If not, and
if I grasped it, and if it held, how long should
I swing in the wind that now bore the freshness
and tremors of an imminent gale?
Again fear took hold of me, and as a despe-
rate man I prepared to turn my face once more
to the vast expanse of water and the nothing
PETHERICK'S PERIL 155
beyond that awful cliff. Closing my eyes, I
writhed around with I know not what motions
till again my back pressed the cliff . That was
a restful sensation. And now for the decision
of my fate! I looked at the rope. Not for a
moment could I fancy it within my reach ! Its
sidewise swayings were not, as I had expected,
even slightly inward — indeed when it fell back
against the wind it swung outward as though
the air were eddying from the wall.
Now at last I gazed down steadily. Would
a leap be certain death? The water was of
immense depth below. But what chance of
striking it feet or head first? What chance
of preserving consciousness in the descent?
No, the leap would be death ; that at least was
clear.
Again I turned to the rope. I was now per-
fectly desperate, but steady, nerved beyond
the best moments of my life, good for an effort
surpassing the human. Still the rope swayed
as before, and its motion was very regular. I
saw that I could touch it at any point of its
gyration by a strong leap.
But could I grasp it? What use if it were
not firmly secured above ? But all time for hes-
itation had gone by. I knew too well that
156 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
strength was mine but for a moment, and that
in the next reaction of weakness I should drop
from the wall like a dead fly. Bracing myself,
I watched the rope steadily for one round, and
as it returned against the wind, jumped
straight out over the heaving Atlantic.
By God's aid I reached, touched, clutched,
held the strong line. And it held! Not abso-
lutely. Once, twice, and again, it gave, gave,
with jerks that tried my arms. I knew these
indicated but tightening. Then it held firm
and I swung turning in the air, secure above
the waves that beat below.
To slide down and place my feet in the loop
was the instinctive work of a moment. For-
tunately it was of dimensions to admit my body
barely. I slipped it over my thighs up to my
armpits just as the dreaded reaction of weak-
ness came. Then I lost consciousness.
When I awakened my dear mother's face
was beside my pillow, and she told me that I
had been tossing for a fortnight in brain fever.
Many weeks I lay there, and when I got strong
found that I had left my nerve on that awful
cliff-side. Never since have I been able to look
from a height or see any other human being on
one without shuddering.
PETHERICK'S PERIL 157
So now you know the story, Mr. Frazer, and
have had your last walk on the factory wall.
He spoke truer than he knew. His story
has given me such horrible nightmares ever
since that I could no more walk on the high
brickwork than along that narrow ledge of the
distant Polvydd coast.
LITTLE BAPTISTE
OTTAWA RIVER
MA'AME BAPTISTE LAROCQUE peered again
into her cupboard and her flour barrel, as
though she might have been mistaken in her
inspection twenty minutes earlier.
"No, there is nothing, nothing at all!" said
she to her old mother-in-law. "And no more
trust at the store. Monsieur Conolly was too
cross when I went for corn-meal yesterday.
For sure, Baptiste stays very long at the shanty
this year."
"Fear nothing, Delima," answered the
bright-eyed old woman. "The good God will
send a breakfast for the little ones, and for us.
In seventy years I do not know Him to fail
once, my daughter. Baptiste may be back to-
morrow, and with more money for staying so
long. No, no ; fear not, Delima ! Le bon Dieu
manages all for the best."
"That is true; for so I have heard always,"
answered Delima, with conviction; "but some-
times le bon Dieu requires one's inside to pray
158
LITTLE BAPTISTE 159
very loud. Certainly I trust, like you, Memere;
but it would be pleasant if He would send the
food the day before."
"Ah, you are too anxious, like little Baptiste
here," and the old woman glanced at the boy
sitting by the cradle. "Young folks did not
talk so when I was little. Then we did not
think there was danger in trusting Monsieur le
Cure when he told us to take no heed of the
morrow. But now! to hear them talk, one
might think they had never heard of le bon
Dieu. The young people think too much, for
sure. Trust in the good God, I say. Break-
fast and dinner and supper too we shall all
have to-morrow."
"Yes, Memere" replied the boy, who was
called little Baptiste to distinguish him from
his father. "Le bon Dieu will send an excel-
lent breakfast, sure enough, If I get up very
early, and find some good dore (pickerel) and
catfish on the night-line. But if I did not bait
the hooks, what then? Well, I hope there will '
be more to-morrow than this morning, any-
way."
"There were enough," said the old woman,
severely. "Have we not had plenty all day,
Delima?"
160 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Delima made no answer. She was in doubt
about the plenty which her mother-in-law spoke
of. She wondered whether small Andre and
Odillon and "Toinette, whose heavy breathing
she could hear through the thin partition, would
have been sleeping so peacefully had little Bap-
tiste not divided his share among them at sup-
per-time, with the excuse that he did not feel
very well?
Delima was young yet, — though little Bap-
tiste was such a big boy, — and would have
rested fully on the positively expressed trust of
her mother-in-law, in spite of the empty flour
barrel, if she had not suspected little Baptiste
of sitting there hungry.
However, he was such a strange boy, she
soon reflected, that perhaps going empty did
not make him feel bad! Little Baptiste was
so decided in his ways, made what in others
would have been sacrifices so much as a matter
of course, and was so much disgusted on being
' offered credit or sympathy in consequence, that
his mother, not being able to understand him,
was not a little afraid of him.
He was not very formidable in appearance,
however, that clumsy boy of fourteen or so,
whose big freckled, good face was now bent
LITTLE BAPTISTE 161
over the cradle where la petite Seraphine lay
smiling in her sleep, with soft little fingers
clutched round his rough one.
"For sure," said Delima, observing the
baby's smile, "the good angels are very near.
I wonder what they are telling her?"
"Something about her father, of course; for
so I have always heard it is when the infants
smile in sleep," answered the old woman.
Little Baptiste rose impatiently and went
into the sleeping-room. Often the simplicity
and sentimentality of his mother and grand-
mother gave him strange pangs at heart; they
seemed to be the children, while he felt very
old. They were always looking for wonderful
things to happen, and expecting the saints and
le bon Dieu to help the family out of difficulties
that little Baptiste saw no way of overcoming
without the work which was then so hard to get.
His mother's remark about the angels talking
to little Seraphine pained him so much that he
would have cried had he not felt compelled to
be very much of a man during his father's ab-
sence.
If he had been asked to name the spirit hov-
ering about, he would have mentioned a very
wicked one as personified in John Conolly, the
162 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
village storekeeper, the vampire of the little
hamlet a quarter of a mile distant. Conolly
owned the tavern too, and a sawmill up river,
and altogether was a very rich, powerful, and
dreadful person in little Baptiste's view.
Worst of all, he practically owned the cabin
and lot of the Larocques, for he had made big
Baptiste give him a bill of sale of the place as
security for groceries to be advanced to the
family while its head was away in the shanty;
and that afternoon Conolly had said to little
Baptiste that the credit had been exhausted,
and more.
"No ; you can't get any pork," said the store-
keeper. "Don't your mother know that, after
me sending her away when she wanted corn-
meal yesterday ? Tell her she don't get another
cent's worth here."
"For why not? My fader always he
pay," said the indignant boy, trying to talk
English.
"Yes, indeed! Well, he ain't paid this time.
How do I know what's happened to him, as he
ain't back from the shanty? Tell you what:
I'm going to turn you all out if your mother
don't pay rent in advance for the shanty to-
morrow,— four dollars a month."
LITTLE BAPTISTE 163
"What you talkin' so for? We doan' goin'
pay no rent for our own house !"
"You doan' goin' to own no house," an-
swered Conolly, mimicking the boy. "The
house is mine any time I like to say so. If the
store bill ain't paid to-night, out you go to-
morrow, or else pay rent. Tell your mother
that for me. Mosey off now. 'Marche, done!'
There's no other way."
Little Baptiste had not told his mother of
this terrible threat, for what was the use ? She
had no money. He knew that she would begin
weeping and wailing, with small Andre and
Odillon as a puzzled, excited chorus, with
'Toinette and Seraphine adding those baby
cries that made little Baptiste want to cry him-
self ; with his grandmother steadily advising, in
the din, that patient trust in le bon Dieu which
he could not always entertain, though he felt
very wretched that he could not.
Moreover, he desired to spare his mother and
grandmother as long as possible. "Let them
have their good night's sleep," said he to him-
self, with such thoughtfulness and pity as a
merchant might feel in concealing imminent
bankruptcy from his family. He knew there
was but one chance remaining, — that his father
164 OLD MAN SAVAKIN STORIES
might come home during the night or next
morning, with his winter's wages.
Big Baptiste had "gone up" for Rewbell the
jobber; had gone in November, to make logs in
the distant Petawawa woods, and now the
month was May. The "very magnificent" pig
he had salted down before going away had been
eaten long ago. My! what a time it seemed
now to little Baptiste since that pig-killing!
How good the boudin (the blood-puddings)
had been, and the liver and tender bits, and
what a joyful time they had had! The barrel-
ful of salted pike and catfish was all gone too,
—which made the fact that fish were not biting
well this year very sad indeed.
Now on top of all these troubles this new
danger of being turned out on the roadside!
For where are they to get four dollars, or two,
or one even, to stave Conolly off? Certainly
his father was away too long; but surely, surely,
thought the boy, he would get back in time to
save his home ! Then he remembered with hor-
ror, and a feeling of being disloyal to his father
for remembering, that terrible day, three years
before, when big Baptiste had come back from
his winter's work drunk, and without a dollar,
having been robbed while on a spree in Ottawa.
LITTLE BAPTISTE 165
If that were the reason of his father's delay
now, ah, then there would be no hope, unless
le bon Dieu should indeed work a miracle for
them!
While the boy thought over the situation
with fear, his grandmother went to her bed,
and soon afterward Delima took the little Ser-
aphine's cradle into the sleeping-room. That
left little Baptiste so lonely that he could not
sit still; nor did he see any use of going to lie
awake in bed by Andre and Odillon.
So he left the cabin softly, and reaching the
river with a few steps, pushed off his flat-bot-
tomed boat, and was carried smartly up stream
by the shore eddy. It soon gave him to the
current, and then he drifted idly down under
the bright moon, listening to the roar of the
long rapid, near the foot of which their cabin
stood. Then he took to his oars, and rowed to
the end of his night-line, tied to the wharf.
He had an unusual fear that it might be gone,
but found it all right, stretched taut ; a slender
rope, four hundred feet long, floated here and
there far away in the darkness by flat cedar
sticks, — a rope carrying short bits of line, and
forty hooks, all loaded with excellent fat,
wriggling worms.
166 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
That day little Baptiste had taken much
trouble with his night-line; he was proud of
the plentiful bait, and now, as he felt the
tightened rope with his fingers, he told himself
that his well-filled hooks must attract plenty
of fish, — perhaps a sturgeon! Wouldn't that
be grand? A big sturgeon of seventy-five
pounds !
He pondered the Ottawa statement that
"there are seven kinds of meat on the head of
a sturgeon," and, enumerating the kinds, fell
into a conviction that one sturgeon at least
would surely come to his line. Had not three
been caught in one night by Pierre Mallette,
who had no sort of claim, who was too lazy to
bait more than half his hooks, altogether too
wicked to receive any special favors from le bon
Dieu?
Little Baptiste rowed home, entered the
cabin softly, and stripped for bed, almost
happy in guessing what the big fish would
probably weigh.
Putting his arms around little Andre, he
tried to go to sleep ; but the threats of Conolly
came to him with new force, and he lay awake,
with a heavy dread in his heart.
How long he had been lying thus he did not
LITTLE BAPTISTE 167
know, when a heavy step came upon the plank
outside the door.
"Father's home!" cried little Baptiste,
springing to the floor as the door opened.
"Baptiste! my own Baptiste!" cried Delima,
putting her arms around her husband as he
stood over her.
"Did I not say," said the old woman, seizing
her son's hand, "that the good God would send
help in time?"
Little Baptiste lit the lamp. Then they saw
something in the father's face that startled
them all. He had not spoken, and now they
perceived that he was haggard, pale, wild-
eyed.
"The good God!" cried big Baptiste, and
knelt by the bed, and bowed his head on his
arms, and wept so loudly that little Andre and
Odillon, wakening, joined his cry. ffLe bon
Dieu has forgotten us! For all my winter's
work I have not one dollar! The concern is
failed. Rewbell paid not one cent of wages,
but ran away, and the timber has been seized."
Oh, the heartbreak! Oh, poor Delima! poor
children! and poor little Baptiste, with the
threats of Conolly rending his heart !
"I have walked all day," said the father,
168 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"and eaten not a thing. Give me something,
Delima."
"O holy angels!" cried the poor woman,
breaking into a wild weeping. "O Baptiste,
Baptiste, my poor man! There is nothing;
not a scrap ; not any flour, not meal, not grease
even ; not a pinch of tea !" but still she searched
frantically about the rooms.
"Never mind," said big Baptiste then, hold-
ing her in his strong arms. "I am not so hun-
gry as tired, Delima, and I can sleep."
The old woman, who had been swaying to
and fro in her chair of rushes, rose now, and
laid her aged hands on the broad shoulders of
the man.
"My son Baptiste," she said, "you must not
say that God has forgotten us, for He has not
forgotten us. The hunger is hard to bear, I
know, — hard, hard to bear; but great plenty
will be sent in answer to our prayers. And it is
hard, hard to lose thy long winter's work; but
be patient, my son, and thankful, yes, thankful
for all thou hast.
"Behold, Delima is well and strong. See
the little Baptiste, how much a man ! Yes, that
is right ; kiss the little Andre and Odillon ; and
see! how sweetly 'Toinette sleeps! All strong
LITTLE BAPTISTE 169
and well, son Baptiste! Were one gone, think
what thou wouldst have lost! But instead, be
thankful, for behold, another has been given, —
the little Seraphine here, that thou hast not be-
fore seen!"
Big, rough, soft-hearted Baptiste knelt by
the cradle, and kissed the babe gently.
"It is true, Memere" he answered, "and I
thank le bon Dieu for his goodness to me."
But little Baptiste, lying wide awake for
hours afterwards, was not thankful. He could
not see that matters could be much worse. A
big hard lump was in his throat as he thought
of his father's hunger, and the home-coming
so different from what they had fondly counted
on. Great slow tears came into the boy's eyes,
and he wiped them away, ashamed even in the
dark to have been guilty of such weakness.
In the gray dawn little Baptiste suddenly
awoke, with the sensation of having slept on
his post. How heavy his heart was! Why?
He sat dazed with indefinite sorrow. Ah, now
he remembered! Conolly threatening to turn
them outl and his father back penniless! No
breakfast! Well, we must see about that.
Very quietly he rose, put on his patched
clothes, and went out. Heavy mist covered the
170 OLD MAN SAVABIN STORIES
face of the river, and somehow the rapid seemed
stilled to a deep, pervasive murmur. As he
pushed his boat off, the morning fog was chil-
lier than frost about him; but his heart got
lighter as he rowed toward his night-line, and
he became even eager for the pleasure of hand-
ling his fish. He made up his mind not to be
much disappointed if there were no sturgeon,
but could not quite believe there would be none ;
surely it was reasonable to expect one, perhaps
two — why not three? — among the catfish and
dore.
How very taut and heavy the rope felt as he
raised it over his gunwales, and letting the bow
swing up stream, began pulling in the line hand
over hand ! He had heard of cases where every
hook had its fish; such a thing might happen
again surely! Yard after yard of rope he
passed slowly over the boat, and down into the
water it sank on his track.
Now a knot on the line told him he was near-
ing the first hook; he watched for the quiver
and struggle of the fish, — probably a big one,
for there he had put a tremendous bait on and
spat on it for luck, moreover. What ? the short
line hung down from the rope, and the baited
hook rose clear of the water!
LITTLE BAPTISTE 171
Baptiste instantly made up his mind that
that hook had been placed a little too far in-
shore; he remembered thinking so before; the
next hook was in about the right place !
Hand over hand, ah! the second hook, too!
Still baited, the big worm very livid ! It must
be thus because that worm was pushed up the
shank of the hook in such a queer way : he had
been rather pleased when he gave the bait that
particular twist, and now was surprised at him-
self; why, any one could see it was a thing to
scare fish!
Hand over hand to the third, — the hook was
naked of bait! Well, that was more satisfac-
tory ; it showed they had been biting, and, after
all, this was just about the beginning of the
right place.
Hand over hand; now the splashing will
begin, thought little Baptiste, and out came the
fourth hook with its livid worm! He held the
rope in his hand without drawing it in for a few
moments, but could see no reasonable objection
to that last worm. His heart sank a little, but
pshaw! only four hooks out of forty were up
yet! wait till the eddy behind the shoal was
reached, then great things would be ' seen.
Maybe the fish had not been lying in that first
bit of current.
172 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Hand over hand again, now! yes, certainly,
there is the right swirl! What? a losch, that
unclean semi-lizard! The boy tore it off and
flung it indignantly into the river. However,
there was good luck in a losch; that was well
known.
But the next hook, and the next, and next,
and next came up baited and fishless. He
pulled hand over hand quickly — not a fish ! and
he must have gone over half the line! Little
Baptiste stopped, with his heart like lead and
his arms trembling. It was terrible! Not a
fish, and his father had no supper, and there
was no credit at the store. Poor little Baptiste !
Again he hauled hand over hand — one hook,
two, three — oh! ho! Glorious! What a de-
lightful sheer downward the rope took ! Surely
the big sturgeon at last, trying to stay down
on the bottom with the hook! But Baptiste
would show that fish his mistake. He pulled,
pulled, stood up to pull; there was a sort of
shake, a sudden give of the rope, and little
Baptiste tumbled over backward as he jerked
his line up from under the big stone !
Then he heard the shutters clattering as
Conolly's clerk took them off the store win-
dow; at half -past five to the minute that was
LITTLE BAPTISTE 173
always done. Soon big Baptiste would be up,
that was certain. Again the boy began hauling
in line: baited hook! baited hook! naked hook!
baited hook! — such was still the tale.
"Surely, surely," implored little Baptiste,
silently, "I shall find some fish!" Up! up!
only four remained! The boy broke down.
Could it be? Had he not somehow skipped
many hooks ? Could it be that there was to be
no breakfast for the children? Naked hook
again! Oh, for some fish! anything! three,
two!
"Oh, send just one for my father! — my poor,
hungry father!" cried little Baptiste, and drew
up his last hook. It came full baited, and the
line was out of the water clear away to his outer
buoy!
He let go the rope and drifted down the
river, crying as though his heart would break.
All the good hooks useless ! all the labor thrown
away ! all his self-confidence come to naught !
Up rose the great sun; from around the
kneeling boy drifted the last of the morning
mists; bright beams touched his bowed head
tenderly. He lifted his face and looked up the
rapid. Then he jumped to his feet with sudden
wonder; a great joy lit up his countenance.
174 OLD MAN SAVARIN STOEIES
Far up the river a low, broad, white patch
appeared on the sharp sky-line made by the
level dark summit of the long slope of tumbling
water. On this white patch stood many figures
of swaying men black against the clear morn-
ing sky, and little Baptiste saw instantly that
an attempt was being made to "run" a "band"
of deals, or many cribs lashed together, instead
of single cribs as had been done the day before.
The broad strip of white changed its form
slowly, dipped over the slope, drew out like a
wide ribbon, and soon showed a distinct slant
across the mighty volume of the deep raft chan-
nel. When little Baptiste, acquainted as he
was with every current, eddy, and shoal in the
rapid, saw that slant, he knew that his first
impression of what was about to happen had
been correct. The pilot of the band had
allowed it to drift too far north before reaching
the rapid's head.
Now the front cribs, instead of following the
curve of the channel, had taken slower water,
while the rear cribs, impelled by the rush under
them, swung the band slowly across the cur-
rent. All along the front the standing men
swayed back and forth, plying sweeps full
forty feet long, attempting to swing into chan-
LITTLE BAPTISTE 175
nel again, with their strokes dashing the dark
rollers before the band into wide splashes of
white. On the rear cribs another crew pulled
in the contrary direction; about the middle of
the band stood the pilot, urging his gangs with
gestures to greater efforts.
Suddenly he made a new motion; the gang
behind drew in their oars and ran hastily for-
ward to double the force in front. But they
came too late! Hardly had the doubled bow
crew taken a stroke when all drew in their oars
and ran back to be out of danger. Next mo-
ment the front cribs struck the "hog's-back"
shoal.
Then the long broad band curved downward
in the centre, the rear cribs swung into the shal-
lows on the opposite side of the raft-channel,
there was a great straining and crashing, the
men in front huddled together, watching the
wreck anxiously, and the band went speedily to
pieces. Soon a fringe of single planks came
down stream, then cribs and pieces of cribs;
half the band was drifting with the currents,
and half was "hung up" on the rocks among
the breakers.
launching the big red flat-bottomed bow
boat, twenty of the raftsmen came with wild
176 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
speed down the river, and as there had been no
rush to get aboard, little Baptiste knew that the
cribs on which the men stood were so hard
aground that no lives were in danger. It meant
much to him ; it meant that he was instantly at
liberty to gather in money! money, in sums
that loomed to gigantic figures before his imag-
ination.
He knew that there was an important reason
for hurrying the deals to Quebec, else the great
risk of running a band at that season would not
have been undertaken; and he knew that hard
cash would be paid down as salvage for all
planks brought ashore, and thus secured from
drifting far and wide over the lake-like expanse
below the rapid's foot. Little Baptiste plunged
his oars in and made for a clump of deals float-
ing in the eddy near his own shore. As he
rushed along, the raftsmen's boat crossed his
bows, going to the main raft below for ropes
and material to secure the cribs coming down
intact.
"Good boy!" shouted the foreman to Bap-
tiste. "Ten cents for every deal you fetch
ashore above the raft !"
Ten cents ! he had expected but five ! What
a harvest !
LITTLE BAPTISTE 177
Striking his pike-pole into the clump of
deals, — "fifty at least," said joyful Baptiste, —
he soon secured them to his boat, and then
pulled, pulled, pulled, till the blood rushed to
his head, and his arms ached, before he landed
his wealth.
"Father!" cried he, bursting breathlessly into
the sleeping household. "Come quick! I can't
get it up without you."
"Big sturgeon?" cried the shantyman, jump-
ing into his trousers.
"Oh, but we shall have a good fish break-
fast!" cried Delima.
"Did I not say the blessed le bon Dieu would
send plenty fish?" observed Memere.
"Not a fish!" cried little Baptiste, with re-
covered breath. "But look! look!" and he
flung open the door. The eddy was now white
with planks.
"Ten cents for each!" cried the boy. "The
foreman told me."
"Ten cents!" shouted his father. "Bap-
teme! it's my winter's wages!"
And the old grandmother! And Delima?
Why, they just put their arms round each
other and cried for joy.
"And yet there's no breakfast," said Delima,
178 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
starting up. "And they will work hard, hard."
At that instant who should reach the door
but Monsieur Conolly! He was a man who
respected cash wherever he found it, and al-
ready the two Baptistes had a fine show ashore.
"Ma'ame Larocque," said Conolly, politely,
putting in his head, "of course you know I was
only joking yesterday. You can get anything
you want at the store."
What a breakfast they did have, to be sure!
the Baptistes eating while they worked. Back
and forward they dashed till late afternoon,
driving ringed spikes into the deals, running
light ropes through the rings, and, when a good
string had thus been made, going ashore to haul
in. At that hauling Delima and Memere, even
little Andre and Odillon gave a hand.
Everybody in the little hamlet made money
that day, but the Larocques twice as much as
any other family, because they had an eddy and
a low shore. With the help of the people "the
big Bourgeois" who owned the broken raft got
it away that evening, and saved his fat contract
after all.
"Did I not say so?" said "Memere" at night,
for the hundredth time. "Did I not say so?
Yes, indeed, le bon Dieu watches over us all."
LITTLE BAPTISTE 179
"Yes, indeed, grandmother," echoed little
Baptiste, thinking of his failure on the night-
line. "We may take as much trouble as we
like, but it's no use unless le bon Dieu helps us.
Only — I don't know what de big Bourgeois
say about that — his raft was all broke up so
bad."
"Ah, ow" said Memere, looking puzzled for
but a moment. "But he didn't put his trust in
le bon Dieu; that's it, for sure. Besides, maybe
le bon Dieu want to teach him a lesson; he'll
not try for run a whole band of deals next time.
You see that was a tempting of Providence;
and then — the big Bourgeois is a Protestant."
RED-HEADED WINDEGO
BIG Baptiste Seguin, on snow-shoes nearly
six feet long, strode mightily out of the forest,
and gazed across the treeless valley ahead.
"Hooraw! No choppin' for two mile!" he
shouted.
"Hooraw! Bully! Hi-yi!" yelled the axe-
men, Pierre, "Jawnny," and "Frawce," two
hundred yards behind. Their cries were taken
up by the two chain-bearers still farther back.
"Is it a lake, Baptiste?" cried Tom Duns-
combe, the young surveyor, as he hurried for-
ward through balsams that edged the woods
and concealed the open space from those among
the trees.
"No, seh ; only a beaver meddy."
"Clean?"
"Clean ! Yesseh ! Clean's your face. Hain't
no tree for two mile if de line is go right."
"Good! We shall make seven miles to-day,"
said Tom, as he came forward with immense
strides, carrying a compass and Jacob's-staff.
Behind him the axemen slashed along, striking
white slivers from the pink and scaly columns
180
RED-HEADED WINDEGO 181
of red pines that shot up a hundred and twenty
feet without a branch. If any underbrush grew
there, it was beneath the eight-feet-deep Feb-
ruary snow, so that one could see far away
down a multitude of vaulted, converging aisles.
Our young surveyor took no thought of the
beauty and majesty of the forest he was leav-
ing. His thoughts and those of his men were
set solely on getting ahead; for all hands had
been promised double pay for their whole win-
ter, in case they succeeded in running a line
round the disputed Moose Lake timber berth
before the tenth of April.
Their success would secure the claim of their
employer, Old Dan McEachran, whereas their
failure would submit him perhaps to the loss of
the limit, and certainly to a costly lawsuit with
Old Rory Carmichael, another potentate of
the Upper Ottawa.
At least six weeks more of fair snow-shoeing
would be needed to "blaze" out the limit, even
if the unknown country before them should
turn out to be less broken by cedar swamps and
high precipices than they feared. A few days'
thaw with rain would make slush of the eight
feet of snow, and compel the party either to
keep in camp, or risk mal de raquette, — strain
182 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
of legs by heavy snow-shoeing. So they were
in great haste to make the best of fine weather.
Tom thrust his Jacob's-staff into the snow,
set the compass sights to the right bearing,
looked through them, and stood by to let Big
Baptiste get a course along the line ahead.
Baptiste's duty was to walk straight for some
selected object far away on the line. In wood-
land the axeman "blazed" trees on both sides of
his snow-shoe track.
Baptiste was as expert at his job as any
Indian, and indeed he looked as if he had a
streak of Iroquois in his veins. So did
"Frawce," "Jawnny," and all their comrades
of the party.
"The three pines will do," said Tom, as Bap-
tiste crouched.
"Good luck to-day for sure!" cried Baptiste,
rising with his eyes fixed on three pines in the
foreground of the distant timbered ridge. He
saw that the line did indeed run clear of trees
for two miles along one side of the long, narrow
beaver meadow or swale.
Baptiste drew a deep breath, and grinned
agreeably at Tom Dunscombe.
"De boys will look like dey's all got de dou-
ble pay in deys' pocket when dey's see dis
RED-HEADED WINDEGO 183
open," said Baptiste, and started for the three
pines as straight as a bee.
Tom waited to get from the chainmen the
distance to the edge of the wood. They came
on the heels of the axemen, and all capered on
their snow-shoes to see so long a space free
from cutting.
It was now two o'clock; they had marched
with forty pound or "light" packs since day-
light, lunching on cold pork and hard-tack as
they worked; they had slept cold for weeks on
brush under an open tent pitched over a hole
in the snow; they must live this life of hard-
ship and huge work for six weeks longer, but
they hoped to get twice their usual eighty-
cents-a-day pay, and so their hearts were light
and jolly.
But Big Baptiste, now two hundred yards
in advance, swinging along in full view of the
party, stopped with a scared cry. They saw
him look to the left and to the right, and over
his shoulder behind, like a man who expects
mortal attack from a near but unknown quar-
ter.
"What's the matter?" shouted Tom.
Baptiste went forward a few steps, hesitated,
stopped, turned, and fairly ran back toward
184 OLD MAN SAVAKIN STORIES
the party. As he came he continually turned
his head from side to side as if expecting to
see some dreadful thing following.
The men behind Tom stopped. Their faces
were blanched. They looked, too, from side to
side.
"Halt, Mr. Tom, halt ! Oh, monjee, M'sieu,
stop!" said Jawnny.
Tom looked round at his men, amazed at
their faces of mysterious terror.
"What on earth has happened?" cried he.
Instead of answering, the men simply
pointed to Big Baptiste, who was soon within
twenty yards.
"What is the trouble, Baptiste?" asked Tom.
Baptiste's face was the hue of death. As he
spoke he shuddered: —
"Monjee, Mr. Tom, we'll got for stop de
job!"
"Stop the job! Are you crazy?"
"If you'll not b'lieve what I told, den you
go'n' see for you'se'f ."
"What is it?"
"De track, seh."
"What track? Wolves?"
"If it was only wolfs !"
"Confound you! can't you say what it is?"
RED-HEADED WINDEGO 185
"Eet's de — it ain't safe for told its name out
loud, for dass de way it come — if it's call by its
name!"
"Windego, eh?" said Tom, laughing.
"I'll know its track jus' as quick's I see it."
"Do you mean you have seen a Windego
track?"
"Monjee, seh, don't say its name ! Let us go
back," said Jawnny. "Baptiste was at Ma-
dores' shanty with us when it took Hermidas
Dubois."
"Yesseh. That's de way I'll come for know
de track soon's I see it," said Baptiste. "Before
den I mos' don' b'lieve dere was any of it. But
ain't it take Hermidas Dubois only last New
Year's?"
"That was all nonsense about Dubois. I'll
bet it was a joke to scare you all."
"Who's kill a man for a joke?" said Bap-
tiste.
"Did you see Hermidas Dubois killed? Did
you see him dead? No! I heard all about it.
All you know is that he went away on New
Year's morning, when the rest of the men were
too scared to leave the shanty, because some
one said there was a Windego track outside."
"Hermidas never come back!"
186 OLD MAN SAVABJN STORIES
"I'll bet he went away home. You'll find
him at Saint Agathe in the spring. You can't
be such fools as to believe in Windegos."
"Don't you say dat name some more!" yelled
Big Baptiste, now fierce with fright. "Hain't
I just seen de track? I'm go'n' back, me, if
I don't get a copper of pay for de whole win-
ter!"
"Wait a little now, Baptiste," said Tom,
alarmed lest his party should desert him and
the job. "I'll soon find out what's at the bot-
tom of the track."
"Dere is blood at de bottom — I seen it!" said
Baptiste.
"Well, you wait till I go and see it."
"No! I go back, me," said Baptiste, and
started up the slope with the others at his heels.
"Halt! Stop there! Halt, you fools! Don't
you understand that if there was any such mon-
ster it would as easily catch you in one place as
another?"
The men went on. Tom took another tone.
"Boys, look here! I say, are you going to
desert me like cowards?"
"Hain't goin' for desert you, Mr. Tom, no
seh!" said Baptiste, halting. "Honly I'll hain'
go for cross de track." They all faced round.
RED-HEADED WINDEGO 187
Torn was acquainted with a considerable
number of Windego superstitions.
"There's no danger unless it's a fresh track,"
he said. "Perhaps it's an old one."
"Fresh made dis mornin'," said Baptiste.
"Well, wait till I go and see it. You're all
right, you know, if you don't cross it. Isn't
that the idea?"
"No, seh. Mr. Humphreys told Madore
'bout dat. Eef somebody cross de track and
don't never come back, den de magic ain't in
de track no more. But it's watchin', watchin'
all round to catch somebody what cross its
track; and if nobody don't cross its track and
get catched, den de — de Ting mebby get crazy
mad, and nobody don' know what it's goin' for
do. Kill every person, mebby."
Tom mused over this information. These
men had all been in Madore's shanty; Madore
was under Red Dick Humphreys; Red Dick
was Rory Carmichael's head foreman; he had
sworn to stop the survey by hook or by crook,
and this vow had been made after Tom had
hired his gang from among those scared away
from Madore's shanty. Tom thought he began
to understand the situation.
"Just wait a bit, boys," he said, and started.
188 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"You ain't- surely go'n' for cross de track?"
cried Baptiste.
"Not now, anyway," said Tom. "But wait
till I see it."
When he reached the mysterious track it
surprised him so greatly that he easily forgave
Baptiste's fears.
If a giant having ill-shaped feet as long as
Tom's snow-shoes had passed by in moccasins,
the main features of the indentations might
have been produced. But the marks were no
deeper in the snow than if the huge moccasins
had been worn by an ordinary man. They were
about five and a half feet apart from centres, a
stride that no human legs could take at a walk-
ing pace.
Moreover, there were on the snow none of
the dragging marks of striding; the gigantic
feet had apparently been lifted straight up
clear of the snow, and put straight down.
Strangest of all, at the front of each print
were five narrow holes which suggested that
the mysterious creature had travelled with bare,
claw-like toes. An irregular drip or squirt of
blood went along the middle of the indenta-
tions ! Nevertheless, the whole thing seemed of
human devising.
RED-HEADED WINDEGO 189
This track, Tom reflected, was consistent
with the Indian superstition that Windegos are
monsters who take on or relinquish the human
form, and vary their size at pleasure. He per-
ceived that he must bring the maker of those
tracks promptly to book, or suffer his men to
desert the survey, and cost him his whole win-
ter's work, besides making him a laughing-
stock in the settlements.
The young fellow made his decision in-
stantly. After feeling for his match-box and
sheath-knife, he took his hatchet from his sash,
and called to the men.
"Go into camp and wait for me!"
Then he set off alongside of the mysterious
track at his best pace. It came out of a tangle
of alders to the west, and went into such an-
other tangle about a quarter of a mile to the
east. Tom went east. The men watched him
with horror.
"He's got crazy, looking at de track," said
Big Baptiste, "for that's the way, — one is en-
chanted,— he must follow."
"He was a good boss," said Jawnny, sadly.
As the young fellow disappeared in the
alders the men looked at one another with a
certain shame. Not a sound except the sough
190 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
of pines from the neighboring forest was heard.
Though the sun was sinking in clear blue, the
aspect of the wilderness, gray and white and
severe, touched the impressionable men with
deeper melancholy. They felt lonely, master-
less, mean.
"He was a good boss," said Jawnny again.
"Tort Dieu!" cried Baptiste, leaping to his
feet. "It's a shame for desert the young boss.
I don't care; the Windego can only kill me.
I'm going for help Mr. Tom."
"Me also," said Jawnny.
Then all wished to go. But after some par-
ley it was agreed that the others should wait
for the portageurs, who were likely to be two
miles behind, and make camp for the night.
Soon Baptiste and Jawnny, each with his
axe, started diagonally across the swale, and
entered the alders on Tom's track.
It took them twenty yards through the al-
ders, to the edge of a warm spring or marsh
about fifty yards wide. This open, shallow
water was completely encircled by alders that
came down to its very edge. Tom's snow-shoe
track joined the track of the mysterious mon-
ster for the first time on the edge — and there
both vanished !
BAPTI8TE AND JAWNNY LOOKED AT THE PLACE
IN THE WILDEST TERROR
RED-HEADED WINDEGO 191
Baptiste and Jawnny looked at the place
with the wildest terror, and without even think-
ing to search the deeply indented opposite
edges of the little pool for a reappearance of the
tracks, fled back to the party. It was just as
Red Dick Humphreys had said; just as they
had always heard. Tom, like Hermidas Du-
bois, appeared to have vanished from existence
the moment he stepped on the Windego track!
The dimness of early evening was in the red-
pine forest through which Tom's party had
passed early in the afternoon, and the belated
portageurs were tramping along the line. A
man with a red head had been long crouching
in some cedar bushes to the east of the "blazed"
cutting. When he had watched the portageurs
pass out of sight, he stepped over upon their
track, and followed it a short distance.
A few minutes later a young fellow, over six
feet high, who strongly resembled Tom Duns-
combe, followed the red-headed man.
The stranger, suddenly catching sight of a
flame far away ahead on the edge of the beaver
meadow, stopped and fairly hugged himself.
"Camped, by jiminy! I knowed I'd fetch
'em," was the only remark he made.
192 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"I wish Big Baptiste could see that Windego
laugh," thought Tom Dunscombe, concealed
behind a tree.
After reflecting a few moments, the red-
headed man, a wiry little fellow, went forward
till he came to where an old pine had recently
fallen across the track. There he kicked off
his snow-shoes, picked them up, ran along the
trunk, jumped into the snow from among the
branches, put on his snow-shoes, and started
northwestward. His new track could not be
seen from the survey line.
But Tom had beheld and understood the
purpose of the manoeuvre. He made straight
for the head of the fallen tree, got on the
stranger's tracks and cautiously followed them,
keeping far enough behind to be out of hearing
or sight.
The red-headed stranger went toward the
wood out of which the mysterious track of the
morning had come. When he had reached the
little brush-camp in which he had slept the pre-
vious night, he made a small fire, put a small
tin pot on it, boiled some tea, broiled a venison
steak, ate his supper, had several good laughs,
took a long smoke, rolled himself round and
round in his blanket, and went to sleep.
BED-HEADED WINDEGO 193
Hours passed before Tom ventured to crawl
forward and peer into the brush camp. The
red-headed man was lying on his face, as is
the custom of many woodsmen. His capuchin
cap covered his red head.
Tom Dunscombe took off his own long sash.
When the red-headed man woke up he found
that some one was on his back, holding his head
firmly down.
Unable to extricate his arms or legs from his
blankets, the red-headed man began to utter
fearful threats. Tom said not one word, but
diligently wound his sash round his prisoner's
head, shoulders, and arms.
He then rose, took the red-headed man's own
"tump-line," a leather strap about twelve feet
long, which tapered from the middle to both
ends, tied this firmly round the angry live
mummy, and left him lying on his face.
Then, collecting his prisoner's axe, snow-
shoes, provisions, and tin pail, Tom started
with them back along the Windego track for
camp.
Big Baptiste and his comrades had supped
too full of fears to go to sleep. They had built
an enormous fire, because Windegos are re-
ported, in Indian circles, to share with wild
194 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
beasts the dread of flames and brands. Tom
stole quietly to within fifty yards of the camp,
and suddenly shouted in unearthly fashion.
The men sprang up, quaking.
"It's the Windego!" screamed Jawnny.
"You silly fools!" said Tom, coming for-
ward. "Don't you know my voice? Am I a
Windego?"
"It's the Windego, for sure; it's took the
shape of Mr. Tom, after eatin' him," cried Big
Baptiste.
Tom laughed so uproariously at this that the
other men scouted the idea, though it was quite
in keeping with their information concerning
Windegos' habits.
Then Tom came in and gave a full and par-
ticular account of the Windego's pursuit, cap-
ture, and present predicament.
"But how'd he make de track?" they
asked.
"He had two big old snow-shoes, stuffed with
spruce tips underneath, and covered with
dressed deerskin. He had cut off the back
ends of them. You shall see them to-morrow.
I found them down yonder where he had left
them after crossing the warm spring. He had
five bits of sharp round wood going down in
RED-HEADED WINDEGO 195
front of them. He must have stood on them
one after the other, and lifted the back one
every time with the pole he carried. I've got
that, too. The blood was from a deer he had
run down and killed in the snow. He carried
the blood in his tin pail, and sprinkled it be-
hind him. He must have run out our line long
ago with a compass, so he knew where it would
go. But come, let us go and see if it's Red
Dick Humphreys."
Red Dick proved to be the prisoner. He
had become quite philosophic while waiting for
his captor to come back. When unbound he
grinned pleasantly, and remarked:
"You're Mr. Dunscombe, eh? Well, you're
a smart young feller, Mr. Dunscombe. There
ain't another man on the Ottaway that could
'a' done that trick on me. Old Dan McEach-
ran will make your fortun' for this, and I don't
begrudge it. You're a man — that's so. If
ever I hear any feller saying to the contrayry
he's got to lick Red Dick Humphreys."
And he told them the particulars of his prac-
tical joke in making a Windego track round
Madore's shanty.
"Hermidas Dubois? — oh, he's all right," said
Red Dick. "He's at home at St. Agathe.
196 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Man, he helped me to fix up that Windego
track at Madore's; but, by criminy! the look of
it scared him so he wouldn't cross it himself.
It was a holy terror!"
THE RIDE BY NIGHT
MR. ADAM BAINES is a little gray about the
temples, but still looks so young that few could
suppose him to have been one of the fifty-three
thousand Canadians who served Abraham Lin-
coln's cause in the Civil War. Indeed, he was
in the army less than a year. How he went out
of it he told me in some such words as these : —
An orderly from the direction of Meade's
headquarters galloped into our parade ground,
and straight for the man on guard before the
colonel's tent. That was pretty late in the af-
ternoon of a bright March day in 1865, but the
parade ground was all red mud with shallow
pools. I remember well how the hind hoofs of
the orderly's galloper threw away great chunks
of earth as he splashed diagonally across the
open.
His rider never slowed till he brought his
horse to its haunches before the sentry. There
he flung himself off instantly, caught up his
sabre, and ran through the middle opening of
the high screen of sapling pines stuck on end,
side by side, all around the acre or so occupied
by the officers' quarters.
197
198 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
The day, though sunny, was not warm, and
nearly all the men of my regiment were in their
huts when that galloping was heard. Then
they hurried out like bees from rows of hives,
ran up the lanes between the lines of huts, and
collected, each company separately, on the edge
of the parade ground opposite the officers'
quarters.
You see we had a notion that the orderly had
brought the word to break camp. For five
months the Army of the Potomac had been in
winter quarters, and for weeks nothing more
exciting than vidette duty had broken the mo-
notony of our brigade. We understood that
Sheridan had received command of all Grant's
cavalry, but did not know but the orderly had
rushed from Sheridan himself. Yet we awaited
the man's re-appearance with intense curiosity.
Soon, instead of the orderly, out ran our
first lieutenant, a small, wiry, long-haired man
named Miller. He was in undress uniform,—
just a blouse and trousers, — and bare-headed.
Though he wore low shoes, he dashed through
mud and water toward us, plainly in a great
hurry.
"Sergeant Kennedy, I want ten men at once
— mounted," Miller said. "Choose the ten best
199
able for a long ride, and give them the best
horses in the company. You understand, — no
matter whose the ten best horses are, give 'em
to the ten best riders."
"I understand, sir," said Kennedy.
By this time half the company had started
for the stables, for fully half considered them-
selves among the best riders. The lieutenant
laughed at their eagerness.
"Halt, boys!" he cried. "Sergeant, I'll pick
out four myself. Come yourself, and bring
Corporal Crowfoot, Private Bader, and Pri-
vate Absalom Gray."
Crowfoot, Bader, and Gray had been run-
ning for the stables with the rest. Now these
three old soldiers grinned and walked, as much
as to say, "We needn't hurry; we're picked
anyhow;" while the others hurried on. I re-
mained near Kennedy, for I was so young and
green a soldier that I supposed I had no chance
to go.
"Hurry up ! parade as soon as possible. One
day's rations; light marching order — no blan-
kets— fetch over-coats and ponchos," said
Miller, turning; "and in choosing your men,
favor light weights."
That was, no doubt, the remark which
200 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
brought me in. I was lanky, light, bred among
horses, and one of the best in the regiment had
fallen to my lot. Kennedy wheeled, and his
eye fell on me.
"Saddle up, Adam, boy," said he; "I guess
you'll do."
Lieutenant Miller ran back to his quarters,
his long hair flying wide. When he reappeared
fifteen minutes later, we were trotting across
the parade ground to meet him. He was
mounted, not on his own charger, but on the
colonel's famous thorough-bred bay. Then we
knew a hard ride must be in prospect.
"What! one of the boys?" cried Miller, as
he saw me. "He's too young."
"He's very light, sir; tough as hickory. I
guess he'll do," said Kennedy.
"Well, no time to change now. Follow me !
But, hang it, you've got your carbines ! Oh, I
forgot! Keep pistols only! throw down your
sabres and carbines — anywhere — never mind
the mud!"
As we still hesitated to throw down our
clean guns, he shouted: "Down with them—
anywhere! Now, boys, after me, by twos!
Trot— gallop!"
Away we went, not a man jack of us knew
THE RIDE BY NIGHT 201
for where or what. The colonel and officers,
standing grouped before regimental headquar-
ters, volleyed a cheer at us. It was taken up
by the whole regiment ; it was taken up by the
brigade; it was repeated by regiment after
regiment of infantry as we galloped through
the great camp toward the left front of the
army. The speed at which Miller led over a
rough corduroy road was extraordinary, and
all the men suspected some desperate enter-
prise afoot.
Red and brazen was the set of the sun. I
remember it well, after we got clear of the
forts, clear of the breastworks, clear of the re-
serves, down the long slope and across the wide
ford of Grimthorpe's Creek, never drawing
rein.
The lieutenant led by ten yards or so. He
had ordered each two to take as much distance
from the other two in advance ; but we rode so
fast that the water from the heels of his horse
and from the heels of each two splashed into the
faces of the following men.
From the ford we loped up a hill, and passed
the most advanced infantry pickets, who
laughed and chaffed us, asking us for locks of
our hair, and if our mothers knew we were out,
202 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
and promising to report our last words faith-
fully to the folks at home.
Soon we turned to the left again, swept close
by several cavalry videttes, and knew then that
we were bound for a ride through a country
that might or might not be within Lee's outer
lines, at that time extended so thinly in many
places that his pickets were far out of touch
with one another. To this day I do not know
precisely where we went, nor precisely what
for. Soldiers are seldom informed of the mean-
ing of their movements.
What I do know is what we did while I was
in the ride. As we were approaching dense
pine woods the lieutenant turned in his saddle,
slacked pace a little, and shouted, "Boys, bunch
up near me !"
He screwed round in his saddle so far that
we could all see and hear, and said :—
"Boys, the order is to follow this road as
fast as we can till our horses drop, or else the
Johnnies drop us, or else we drop upon three
brigades of our own infantry. I guess they've
got astray somehow; but I don't know myself
what the trouble is. Our orders are plain. The
brigades are supposed to be somewhere on this
road. I guess we shall do a big thing if we
THE RIDE BY NIGHT 203
reach those men to-night. All we've got to do
is to ride and deliver this despatch to the gen-
eral in command. You all understand?"
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Yes, sir!"
"It's necessary you all should. Hark, now!
We are not likely to strike the enemy in force,
but we are likely to run up against small par-
ties. Now, Kennedy, if they down me, you are
to stop just long enough to grab the despatch
from my breast; then away you go, — always
on the main road. If they down you after
you've got the paper, the man who can grab it
first is to take it and hurry forward. So on
right to the last man. If they down him, and
he's got his senses when he falls, he's to tear
the paper up, and scatter it as widely as he can.
You all understand?"
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!"
"All right, then. String out again !"
He touched the big bay with the spur, and
shot quickly ahead.
With the long rest of the winter our horses
were in prime spirits, though mostly a little too
fleshy for perfect condition. I had cared well
for my horse; he was fast and sound in wind
and limb. I was certainly the lightest rider of
the eleven.
204 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
I was still thinking of the probability that I
should get further on the way than any com-
rade except the lieutenant, or perhaps Crow-
foot and Bader, whose horses were in great
shape ; I was thinking myself likely to win pro-
motion before morning, when a cry came out
of the darkness ahead. The words of the chal-
lenge I was not able to catch, but I heard Mil-
ler shout, "Forward, boys!"
We shook out more speed just as a rifle spat
its long flash at us from about a hundred yards
ahead. For one moment I plainly saw the
Southerner's figure. Kennedy reeled beside
me, flung up his hands with a scream, and fell.
His horse stopped at once. In a moment the
lieutenant had ridden the sentry down.
Then from the right side of the road a party,
who must have been lying round the camp-fire
that we faintly saw in among the pines, let fly
at us. They had surely been surprised in their
sleep. I clearly saw them as their guns flashed.
"Forward! Don't shoot! Ride on," shouted
Miller. "Bushwhackers! Thank God, not
mounted! Any of you make out horses with
them?"
"No, sir! No, sir!"
"Who yelled? who went down?"
THE RIDE BY NIGHT 205
"Kennedy, sir," I cried.
"Too bad! Any one else?"
"No, sir."
"All safe?"
"I'm touched in my right arm; but it's noth-
ing," I said. The twinge was slight, and in the
fleshy place in front of my shoulder. I could
not make out that I was losing blood, and the
pain from the hurt was scarcely perceptible.
"Good boy! Keep up, Adam!" called the
lieutenant with a kind tone. I remember my
delight that he spoke my front name. On we
flew.
Possibly the shots had been heard by the
party half a mile further on, for they greeted
us with a volley. A horse coughed hard and
pitched down behind me. His rider yelled as
he fell. Then two more shots came : Crowfoot
reeled in front of me, and somehow checked
his horse. I saw him no more. Next moment
we were upon the group with our pistols.
"Forward, men ! Don't stop to fight !" roared
Miller, as he got clear. A rifle was fired so
close to my head that the flame burned my
back hair, and my ears rang for half an hour
or more. My bay leaped high and dashed down
a man. In a few seconds I was fairly out of
the scrimmage.
206 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
How many of my comrades had gone down
I knew not, nor beside whom I was riding.
Suddenly our horses plunged into a hole; his
stumbled, the man pitched forward, and was
left behind. Then I heard a shot, the clatter
of another falling horse, the angry yell of
another thrown rider.
On we went, — the relics of us. Now we
rushed out of the pine forest into broad moon-
light, and I saw two riders between me and the
lieutenant, — one man almost at my shoulder,
and another galloping ten yards behind. Very
gradually this man dropped to the rear. We
had lost five men already, and still the night
was young.
Bader and Absalom Gray were nearest me.
Neither spoke a word till we struck upon a
space of sandy road. Then I could hear, far
behind the rear man, a sound of galloping on
the hard highway.
"They're after us, lieutenant!" shouted
Bader.
"Many?" He slacked speed, and we listened
attentively.
"Only one," cried Miller. "He's coming
fast."
The pursuer gained so rapidly that we looked
THE RIDE BY NIGHT 207
to our pistols again. Then Absalom Gray
cried:
"It's only ahorse!"
In a few moments the great gray of fallen
Corporal Crowfoot overtook us, went ahead,
and slacked speed by the lieutenant.
"Good! He'll be fresh when the rest go
down!" shouted Miller. "Let the last man
mount the gray!"
By this time we had begun to think ourselves
clear of the enemy, and doomed to race on till
the horses should fall.
Suddenly the hoofs of Crowfoot's gray and
the lieutenant's bay thundered upon a plank
road whose hollow noise, when we all reached
it, should have been heard far. It took us
through wide orchard lands into a low-lying
mist by the banks of a great marsh, till we
passed through that fog, strode heavily up a
slope, and saw the shimmer of roofs under the
moon. Straight through the main street we
pounded along.
Whether it was wholly deserted I know not,
but not a human being was in the streets, nor
any face visible at the black windows. Not
even a dog barked. I noticed no living thing
except some turkeys roosting on a fence, and
208 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
a white cat that sprang upon the pillar of a
gateway and thence to a tree.
Some of the houses seemed to have been
ruined by a cannonade. I suppose it was one
of the places almost destroyed in Willoughby's
recent raid. Here we thundered, expecting
ambush and conflict every moment, while the
loneliness of the street imposed on me such a
sense as might come of galloping through a
long cemetery of the dead.
Out of the village we went off the planks
again upon sand. I began to suspect that I
was losing a good deal of blood. My brain
was on fire with whirling thoughts and won-
der where all was to end. Out of this
daze I came, in amazement to find that we were
quickly overtaking our lieutenant's thorough-
bred.
Had he been hit in the fray, and bled to
weakness? I only know that, still galloping
while we gained, the famous horse lurched for-
ward, almost turned a somersault, and fell on
his rider.
"Stop — the paper!" shouted Bader.
We drew rein, turned, dismounted, and
found Miller's left leg under the big bay's
shoulder. The horse was quite dead, the rider's
THE RIDE BY NIGHT 209
long hair lay on the sand, his face was white
under the moon !
We stopped long enough to extricate him,
and he came to his senses just as we made out
that his left leg was broken.
"Forward !" he groaned. "What in thunder
are you stopped for? Oh, the despatch! Here!
away you go ! Good-bye."
In attending to Miller we had forgotten the
rider who had been long gradually dropping
behind. Now as we galloped away, — Bader,
Absalom Gray, myself, and Crowfoot's rider-
less horse, — I looked behind for that comrade ;
but he was not to be seen or heard. We three
were left of the eleven.
From the loss of so many comrades the im-
portance of our mission seemed huge. With
the speed, the noise, the deaths, the strange-
ness of the gallop through that forsaken village,
the wonder how all would end, the increasing
belief that thousands of lives depended on our
success, and the longing to win, my brain was
wild. A raging desire to be first held me, and
I galloped as if in a dream.
Bader led; the riderless gray thundered be-
side him ; Absalom rode stirrup to stirrup with
me. He was a veteran of the whole war.
210 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Where it was that his sorrel rolled over I do
not remember at all, though I perfectly re-
member how Absalom sprang up, staggered,
shouted, "My foot is sprained!" and fell as I
turned to look at him and went racing on.
Then I heard above the sound of our hoofs
the voice of the veteran of the war. Down as
he was, his spirit was unbroken. In the favor-
ite song of the army his voice rose clear and
gay and piercing:—
"Hurrah for the Union!
Hurrah, boys, hurrah!
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom!"
We turned our heads and cheered him as we
flew, for there was something indescribably
inspiring in the gallant and cheerful lilt of the
fallen man. It was as if he flung us, from the
grief of utter defeat, a soul unconquerable ; and
I felt the life in me strengthened by the tone.
Old Bader and I for it! He led by a hun-
dred yards, and Crowfoot's gray kept his stride.
Was I gaining on them? How was it that I
could see his figure outlined more clearly
against the horizon? Surely dawn was not
coming on!
No; I looked round on a world of naked
THE RIDE BY NIGHT 211
peach-orchards, and corn-fields ragged with
last year's stalks, all dimly lit by a moon that
showed far from midnight ; and that faint light
on the horizon was not in the east, but in the
west. The truth flashed on me, — I was look-
ing at such an illumination of the sky as would
be caused by the camp-fires of an army.
"The missing brigade !" I shouted.
"Or a Southern division!" Bader cried.
"Come on!"
"Come on!" I was certainly gaining on him,
but very slowly. Before the nose of my bay
was beyond the tail of his roan, the wide illu-
minations had become more distinct; and still
not a vidette, not a picket, not a sound of the
proximity of an army.
Bader and I now rode side by side, and
Crowfoot's gray easily kept the pace. My
horse was in plain distress, but Bader's was
nearly done.
"Take the paper, Adam," he said; "my roan
won't go much further. Good-bye, youngster.
Away you go !" and I drew now quickly ahead.
Still Bader rode on behind me. In a few
minutes he was considerably behind. Perhaps
the sense of being alone increased my feeling
of weakness. Was I going to reel out of the
212 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
saddle? Had I lost so much blood as that?
Still I could hear Bader riding on. I turned to
look at him. Already he was scarcely visible.
Soon he dropped out of sight; but still I heard
the laborious pounding of his desperate horse.
My bay was gasping horribly. How far was
that faintly yellow sky ahead? It might be
two, it might be five miles. Were Union or
Southern soldiers beneath it ? Could it be con-
ceived that no troops of the enemy were be-
tween me and it ?
Never mind; my orders were clear. I rode
straight on, and I was still riding straight on,
marking no increase in the distress of my bay,
when he stopped as if shot, staggered, fell on
his knees, tried to rise, rolled to his side,
groaned and lay.
I was so weak I could not clear myself. I
remember my right spur catching in my saddle-
cloth as I tried to free my foot ; then I pitched
forward and fell. Not yet senseless, I clutched
at my breast for the despatch, meaning to tear
it to pieces; but there my brain failed, and in
full view of the goal of the night I lay uncon-
scious.
When I came to, I rose on my left elbow,
and looked around. Near my feet my poor
THE RIDE BY NIGHT 213
bay lay, stone dead. Crowfoot's gray ! — where
was Crowfoot's gray? It flashed on me that I
might mount the fresh horse and ride on. But
where was the gray? As I peered round I
heard faintly the sound of a galloper. Was
he coming my way? No; faintly and more
faintly I heard the hoofs.
Had the gray gone on then, without the de-
spatch? I clutched at my breast. My coat
was unbuttoned — the paper was gone !
Well, sir, I cheered. My God! but it was
comforting to hear those far-away hoofs, and
know that Bader must have come up, taken the
papers, and mounted Crowfoot's gray, still
good for a ten-mile ride! The despatch was
gone forward; we had not all fallen in vain;
maybe the brigades would be saved!
How purely the stars shone ! When I stifled
my groaning they seemed to tell me of a great
peace to come. How still was the night! and
I thought of the silence of the multitudes who
had died for the Union.
Now the galloping had quite died away.
There was not a sound, — a slight breeze blew,
but there were no leaves to rustle. I put my
head down on the neck of my dead horse. Ex-
treme fatigue was benumbing the pain of my
214 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
now swelling arm ; perhaps sleep was near, per-
haps I was swooning.
But a sound came that somewhat revived me.
Far, low, joyful, it crept on the air. I sat up,
wide awake. The sound, at first faint, died as
the little breeze fell, then grew in the lull, and
came ever more clearly as the wind arose. It
was a sound never to be forgotten, — the sound
of the distant cheering of thousands of men.
Then I knew that Bader had galloped into
the Union lines, delivered the despatch, and
told a story which had quickly passed through
wakeful brigades.
Bader I never saw again, nor Lieutenant
Miller, nor any man with whom I rode that
night. When I came to my senses I was in
hospital at City Point. Thence I went home
invalided. No surgeon, no nurse, no soldier at
the hospital could tell me of my regiment, or
how or why I was where I was. All they could
tell me was that Richmond was taken, the army
far away in pursuit of Lee, and a rumor flying
that the great commander of the South had
surrendered near Appomattox Court House.
"DRAFTED"
HARRY WALLBRIDGE, awaking with a sense
of some alarming sound, listened intently in
the darkness, seeing overhead the canvas roof
faintly outlined, the darker stretch of its ridge-
pole, its two thin slanting rafters, and the gable
ends of the winter hut. He could not hear the
small, fine drizzle from an atmosphere sur-
charged with water, nor anything but the drip
from canvas to trench, the rustling of hay
bunched beneath his head, the regular breath-
ing of his "buddy," Corporal Bader, and the
stamping of horses in stables. But when a
soldier in a neighboring tent called indistin-
guishably in the accents of nightmare, Bader's
breathing quieted, and in the lull Harry fancied
the soaked air weighted faintly with steady
picket-firing. A month with the 53d Pennsyl-
vania Veteran Volunteer Cavalry had not quite
disabused the young recruit of his schoolboy
belief that the men of the Army of the Poto-
mac must live constantly within sound of the
out-posts.
Harry sat up to hearken better, and then
concluded that he had mistaken for musketry
216 OLD MAN SAVABIN STORIES
the crackle of haystalks under his poncho sheet.
Beneath him the round poles of his bed sagged
as he drew up his knees and gathered about
his shoulders the gray blanket damp from the
spray of heavy rain against the canvas earlier
in the night. Soon, with slow dawn's approach,
he could make out the dull white of his car-
bine and sabre against the mud-plastered chim-
ney. In that drear dimness the boy shivered,
with a sense of misery rather than from cold,
and yearned as only sleepy youth can for the
ease of a true bed and dry warm swooning to
slumber. He was sustained by no mature
sense that this too would pass; it was with a
certain bodily despair that he felt chafed and
compressed by his rough garments, and pitied
himself, thinking how his mother would cry if
she could see him couched so wretchedly that
wet March morning, pressed all the more into
loneliness by the regular breathing of veteran
Bader in the indifference of deep sleep.
Harry's vision of his mother coming into his
room, shading her candle with her hand, to see
if he were asleep, passed away as a small gust
came, shaking the canvas, for he was instantly
alert with a certainty that the breeze had borne
a strong rolling of musketry.
'DRAFTED" 217
"Bader, Bader!" he said. "Bader!"
"Can't you shut up, you Wallbridge?" came
Orderly Sergeant Gravely's sharp tones from
the next tent.
"What's wrong with you, Harry, boy?"
asked Bader, turning.
"I thought I heard heavy firing closer than
the picket lines; twice now I've thought I
heard it."
"Oh, I guess not, Harry. The Johnnies
won't come out no such night as this. Keep
quiet, or you'll have the sergeant on top of
you. Better lie down and try to sleep, buddy;
the bugles will call morning soon now."
Again Harry fell to his revery of home, and
his vision became that of the special evening on
which his boyish wish to go to the war had, for
the family's sake, become resolve. He saw his
mother's spectacled and lamp-lit face as she,
leaning to the table, read in the familiar Bible ;
little Fred and Mary, also facing the table's
central lamp, bent sleepy heads over their
school-books; the father sat in the rocking-
chair, with his right hand on the paper he had
laid down, and gazed gloomily at the coals
fallen below the front doors of the wood-
burning stove. Harry dreamed himself back
218 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
in his own chair, looking askance, and feeling
sure his father was inwardly groaning over the
absence of Jack, the eldest son. Then nine
o'clock struck, and Fred and Mary began to
put their books away in preparation for bed.
"Wait a little, children," Mrs. Wallbridge
said, serene in tone from her devotional read-
ing. "Father wants that I should tell you
something. You mustn't feel bad about it.
It's that we may soon go out West. Your
Uncle Ezra is doing well in Minnesota. Aunt
Elvira says so in her letter that came to-day."
"It's this way, children," said Mr. Wall-
bridge, ready to explain, now that the subject
was opened. "Since ever your brother Jack
went away South, the store expenses have been
too heavy. It's near five years now he's been
gone. There's a sheaf of notes coming due
the third of next month; twice they've been
renewed, and the Philadelphia men say they'll
close me up this time sure. If I had eight
hundred dollars — but it's no use talking; we'll
just have to let them take what we've got.
Times have been bad right along around here,
anyhow, with new competition, and so many
farmers gone to the war, and more gone West.
If Jack had stopped to home — but I've had to
'DRATTED" 219
pay two clerks to do his work, and then they
don't take any interest in the business. Mind,
I'm not blaming Jack, poor fellow, — he'd a
right to go where he'd get more'n his keep,
and be able to lay up something for himself, —
but what's become of him, God knows; and
such a smart, good boy as he was! He'd got
fond of New Orleans, — I guess some nice girl
there, maybe, was the reason; and there he'd
stay after the war began, and now it's two
years and more since we've heard from him.
Dead, maybe, or maybe they'd put him in jail,
for he said he'd never join the Confederates,
nor fight against them either — he felt that way
— North and South was all the same to him.
And so he's gone ; and I don't see my way now
at all. Ma, if it wasn't for my lame leg, I'd
take the bounty. It'd be something for you
and the children after the store's gone."
"Sho, pa! don't talk that way! You're too
down-hearted. It '11 all come right, with the
Lord's help," said Harry's mother. How
clearly he, in the damp cold tent, could see
her kind looks as she pushed up her spectacles
and beamed on her husband; how distinctly,
in the still dim dawn, he heard her soothing
tones !
220 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
It was that evening's talk which had sent
Harry, so young, to the front. Three village
boys, little older than he, had already contrived
to enlist. Every time he saw the Flag droop-
ing, he thought shame of himself to be absent
from the ranks of its upholders; and now, just
as he was believing himself big and old enough
to serve, he conceived that duty to his parents
distinctly enjoined him to go. So in the night,
without leave-taking or consent of his parents,
he departed. The combined Federal, State,
and city bounties offered at Philadelphia
amounted to nine hundred dollars cash that
dreadful winter before Richmond fell, and
Harry sent the money home triumphantly in
time to pay his father's notes and save the
store.
While the young soldier thought it all over,
carbine and sabre came out more and more
distinctly outlined above the mud-plastered
fireplace. The drizzle had ceased, the drip into
the trench was almost finished, intense stillness
ruled; Harry half expected to hear cocks crow
from out such silence.
Listening for them, his dreamy mind
brooded over both hosts, in a vision even as
wide as the vast spread of the Republic in
'DRAFTED" 221
which they lay as two huddles of miserable
men. For what were they all about him this
woful, wet night? they all fain, as he, for home
and industry and comfort. What delusion
held them? How could it be that they could
not all march away and separate, and the cruel
war be over? Harry caught his breath at the
idea, — it seemed so natural, simple, easy, and
good a solution. Becoming absorbed in the
fancy, tired of listening, and soothed by the
silence, he was falling asleep as he sat, when
a heavy weight seemed to fall, far away. An-
other— another — the fourth had the rumble of
distant thunder, and seemed followed by a con-
cussion of the air.
"Hey — Big Guns! What's up toward City
Point?" cried Bader, sitting up. "I tell you
they're at it. It can't be so far away as Butler.
What? On the left too! That was toward
Hatcher's Run! Harry, the rebs are out in
earnest ! I guess you did hear the pickets try-
ing to stop 'em. What a morning! Ha — Fort
Hell! see that!"
The outside world was dimly lighted up for
a moment. In the intensified darkness that
followed Bader's voice was drowned by the
crash of a great gun from the neighboring fort.
222 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Flash, crash — flash, crash — flash, crash suc-
ceeded rapidly. Then the intervals of Fort
Hell's fire lengthened to the regular periods
for loading, and between her roars were heard
the sullen boom of more distant guns, while
through all the tumult ran a fierce undertone,—
the infernal hurrying of musketry along the
immediate front.
"The Johnnies must have got in close some-
how," cried Bader. "Hey, Sergeant?"
"Yes," shouted Gravely. "Scooped up the
pickets and supports too in the rain, I guess.
Turn out, boys, turn out ! there'll be a wild day.
Kid! Where's the Kid? Kid Sylvester!"
"Here! All right, Barney; I'll be out in
two shakes," shouted the bugler.
"Hurry, then! I can hear the Colonel
shouting already. Man, listen to that!" — as
four of Fort Hell's guns crashed almost
simultaneously. "Brownie! Greasy Cook!
O Brownie!"
"Here!" shouted the cook.
"Get your fire started right away, and see
what salt horse and biscuit you can scare up.
Maybe we'll have time for a snack."
"Turn out, Company K!" shouted Lieu-
tenant Bradley, running down from the
'DRATTED" 223
officers' quarters. "Where's the commissary
sergeant? There? — all right — give out feed
right away! Get your oats, men, and feed
instantly ! We may have time. Hullo ! here's
the General's orderly."
As the trooper galloped, in a mud-storm,
across the parade ground, a group of officers
ran out behind the Colonel from the screen
of pine saplings about Regimental Head-
quarters. The orderly gave the Colonel but
a word, and, wheeling, was off again as "Boot
and saddle" blared from the buglers, who had
now assembled on parade.
"But leave the bits out — let your horses
feed!" cried the Lieutenant, running down
again. "We're not to march till, further
orders."
Beyond the screen of pines Harry could see
the tall canvas ridges of the officers' cabins
lighted up. Now all the tents of the regiment,
row behind row, were faintly luminous, and the
renewed drizzle of the dawn was a little light-
ened in every direction by the canvas-hidden
candles of infantry regiments, the glare of
numerous fires already started, and sparks
showering up from the cook-houses of com-
pany after company.
224 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Soon in the cloudy sky the cannonade rolled
about in broad day, which was still so gray
that long wide flashes of flame could be seen to
spring far out before every report from the
guns of Fort Hell, and in the haze but few of
the rebel shells shrieking along their high curve
could be clearly seen bursting over Hancock's
cheering men. Indistinguishably blent were
the sounds of hosts on the move, field-guns
pounding to the front, troops shouting, the
clink and rattle of metal, officers calling, bugles
blaring, drums rolling, mules screaming, — all
heard as a running accompaniment to the
cannon heavily punctuating the multitudinous
din.
"Fwat sinse in the ould man bodderin' us?"
grumbled Corporal Kennedy, a tall Fenian
dragoon from the British army. "Sure, ain't
it as plain as the sun — and faith the same's not
plain this dirthy mornin' — that there's no work
for cavalry the day, barrin' it's escortin' the
doughboys' prisoners, if they take any? — bad
'cess to the job. Sure it's an infantry fight,
and must be, wid the field-guns helpin', and
the siege pieces boomin' away over the throops
in the mud betwigst our own breastworks and
the inner line of our forts."
'DRATTED" 225
"Oh, by this and by that," the corporal
grumbled on, "ould Lee's not the gintleman I
tuk him for at all, at all, — discomfortin' us in
the rain, — and yesterday an illigant day for
fightin'. Couldn't he wait, like the dacint ould
boy he's reported, for a dhry mornin', instead
av turnin' his byes out in the shlush and de-
stroyin' me chanst av breakfast? It's spring
chickens I'd ordhered."
"You may get up to spring-chicken country
soon, now," said Bader. "I'm thinking this is
near the end; it's the last assault that Lee will
ever deliver."
"Faith, I dunno," said the corporal; "that's
what we've been saying sinst last fall, but the
shtay of them Johnnies bates Banagher and
the prophets. Hoo — ow! by the powers! did
you hear them yell? Fwat? The saints be wid
us ! who'd 'a' thought it possible ? Byes ! Bader !
Harry! luk at the Johnnies swarmin' up the
face of Hell!"
Off there Harry could dimly see, rising over
the near horizon made by tents, a straggling
rush of men up the steep slope, while the rebel
yell came shrill from a multitude behind on the
level ground that was hidden from the place
occupied by the cavalry regiment. In the next
226 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
moment the force mounting Fort Hell's slope
fell away, some lying where shot down, some
rolling, some running and stumbling in heaps;
then a tremendous musketry and field-gun fire
growled to and fro under the heavy smoke
round and about and out in front of the em-
brasures, which had never ceased their regular
discharge over the heads of the fort's defenders
and immediate assailants.
Suddenly Harry noted a slackening of the
battle; it gradually but soon dropped away to
nothing, and now no sound of small-arms in
any direction was heard in the lengthening
intervals of reports from the siege pieces far
and near.
"And so that's the end of it," said Kennedy.
"Sure it was hot work for a while! Faix, I
thought onct the doughboys was nappin' too
long, and ould Hell would be bullyin' away at
ourselves. Now, thin, can we have a bite in
paice? I'll shtart wid a few sausages, Brownie,
and you may send in the shpring chickens wid
some oyshters the second coorse. No! Oh,
by the powers, 't is too mane to lose a breakfast
like that!" and Corporal Kennedy shook his
fist at the group of buglers calling the regiment
to parade.
'DRAFTED" 227
In ten minutes the Fifty-third had formed in
column of companies. "Old Jimmy," their
Colonel, had galloped down at them and once
along their front; then the command, forming
fours from the right front, moved off at a trot
through the mud in long procession.
"Didn't I know it?" said Kennedy; "it's
escortin' the doughboys' prisoners, that's all
we're good for this outrageous day. Oh, wirra,
wirrasthru! Police duty! and this calls itself
a cavalry rigiment. Mounted Police duty, —
escortin' doughboys' prisoners! Faix, I might
as well be wid Her Majesty's dhragoons,
thramplin' down the flesh and blood of me in
poor ould Oireland. Begor, Harry, me bhy,
it's a mane job to be setting you at, and this
the first day ye're mounted to save the Union!"
"Stop coddin' the boy, Corporal," said
Bader, angrily. "You can't think how an
American boy feels about this war."
"An Amerikin! — an Amerikin, is it? Let
me insthruct ye thin, Misther Bader, that I'm
as good an Amerikin as the next man. Och,
be jabers, me that's been in the color you see
ever since the Prisident first called for men!
It was for a three months' dance he axed us
first. Me, that's re-enlishted twice, don't know
228 OLD MAN SAYARIN STORIES
the feelin's of an Amerikin! What am I here
for? Not poverty! sure I'd enough of that
before ever I seen Ameriky ! What am I wal-
lopin' through the mud for this mornin'?"
"It's your trade, Kennedy," said Bader, with
disgust.
"Be damned to you, man!" said the corporal,
sternly. "When I touched fut in New York,
didn't I swear that I'd never dhraw swoord
more, barrin' it was agin the ould red tyrant
and oprissor of me counthry? Wasn't I glad
to be dhrivin' me own hack next year in Phila-
medink like a gintleman? Oh, the paice and
the indipindence of it! But what cud I do
when the counthry that tuk me and was good
to me wanted an ould dhragoon? An Amer-
ikin, ye say! Faith, the heart of me is Amer-
ikin, if I'm a bog throtter by the tongue. Mind
that now, me bould man!"
Harry heard without heeding as the horses
spattered on. Still wavered in his ears the
sounds of the dawn; still he saw the ghostlike
forms of Americans in gray tumbling back
from their rush against the sacred flag that had
drooped so sadly over the smoke; and still, far
away beyond all this puddled and cumbered
ground the dreamy boy saw millions of white
'DRAFTED" 229
American faces, all haggard for news of the
armies — some looking South, some North,
yearning for the Peace that had so long ago
been the boon of the Nation.
Now the regiment was upon the red clay of
the dead fight, and brought to halt in open
columns. After a little they moved off again
in fours, and, dropping into single file, sur-
rounded some thousands of disarmed men, the
remnant of the desperate brigades that Lee
had flung through the night across three lines
of breastworks at the great fort they had so
nearly stormed. Poor drenched, shivering
Johnnies! there they stood, not a few of them
in blue overcoats, but mostly in butternut,
generally tattered; some barefoot, some with
feet bound in ragged sections of blanket, many
with toes and skin showing through crazy boots
lashed on with strips of cotton or with cord;
many stoutly on foot, streaming blood from
head wounds.
Some lay groaning in the mud, while their
comrades helped Union surgeons to bind or
amputate. Here and there groups huddled to-
gether in earnest talk, or listened to comrades
gesticulating and storming as they recounted
incidents of the long charge. But far the
230 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
greater number faced outward, at gaze upon
the cavalry guard, and, silently munching thick
flat cakes of corn-bread, stared into the faces
of the horsemen. Harry Wallbridge, brought
to the halt, faced half round in the saddle, and
looked with quick beatings of pity far and wide
over the disorderly crowd of weather-worn
men.
"It's a Louisiana brigade," said Bader.
"Fifty-three, P. V. V. C.," spoke a prisoner,
as if in reply, reading the letters about the
little crossed brass sabres on the Union hats.
"Say, you men from Pennsylvany?"
"Yes, Johnny; we come down to wake up
Dixie."
"I reckon we got the start at wakin' you
this mornin'," drawled the Southerner. "But
say, — there's one of our boys lyin* dyin' over
yonder ; his folks lives in Pennsylvany. Mebbe
some of you 'ud know 'em."
"What's his name?" asked Bader.
"Wallbridge— Johnny Wallbridge."
"Why, Harry — hold on ! — you ain't the only
Wallbridges there is. What's up?" cried
Bader, as the boy half reeled, half clambered
from his saddle.
"Hold on, Harry!" cried Corporal Kennedy.
'DRAFTED" 231
"Halt there, Wallbridge !" shouted Sergeant
Gravely.
"Stop that man!" roared Lieutenant Brad-
ley.
But, calling, "He's my brother!" Harry,
catching up his sabre as he ran, followed the
Southerner, who had instantly divined the
situation. The forlorn prisoners made ready
way for them, and closing in behind, stretched
in solid array about the scene.
"It's not Jack," said the boy; but something
in the look of the dying man drew him on to
kneel in the mud. "Is it you, Jack? Oh, now
I know you! Jack, I'm Harry! don't you
know me? I'm Hariy — your brother Harry."
The Southern soldier stared rigidly at the
boy, seeming to grow paler with the recollec-
tions that he struggled for.
"What's your name?" he asked very faintly.
"Harry Wallbridge — I'm your brother."
"Harry Wallbridge ! Why, Iym John Wall-
bridge. Did you say Harry? Not Harry!"
he shrieked hoarsely. "No; Harry's only a
little fellow!" He paused, and looked medi-
tatively into the boy's eyes. "It's nearly five
years I've been gone, — he was near twelve
then. Boys," lifting his head painfully and
232 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
casting his look slowly round upon his com-
rades, "I know him by the eyes; yes, he's my
brother! Let me speak to him alone — stand
back a bit,'* and at once the men pushed back-
ward into the form of a wide circle.
"Put down your head, Harry. Kiss me!
Kiss me again! — how's mother? Ah, I was
afraid she might be dead — don't tell her I'm
dead, Harry." He groaned with the pain of
the groin wound. "Closer, Harry; I've got to
tell you this first — maybe it's all I've time to
tell. Say, Harry," — he began to gasp,— -"they
didn't ought to have killed me, the Union
soldiers didn't. I never fired — high enough-
all these years. They drafted me, Harry — tell
mother that — down in New Orleans — and I —
couldn't get away. Ai — ai! how it hurts! I
must die soon's I can tell you. I wanted to
come home — and help father — how's poor
father, Harry? Doing well now? Oh, I'm
glad of that — and the baby? there's a new
baby! Ah, yes, I'll never see it, Harry."
His eyes closed, the pain seemed to leave
him, and he lay almost smiling happily as his
brother's tears fell on his muddy and blood-
clotted face. As if from a trance his eyes
opened, and he spoke anxiously but calmly.
DRATTED" 233
"You'll be sure to tell them I was drafted
— conscripted, you understand. And I never
fired at any of us — of you — tell all the boys
that" Again the flame of life went down, and
again flickered up in pain.
"Harry — you'll stay by father — and help
him, won't you? This cruel war — is almost
over. Don't cry. Kiss me. Say — do you
remember — the old times we had — fishing?
Kiss me again, Harry — brother in blue — you're
on — my side. Oh I wish — I had time — to tell
you. Come close — put your arms around —
my neck — it's old times — again." And now
the wound tortured him for a while beyond
speech. "You're with me, aren't you, Harry?
"Well, there's this," he gasped on, "about
my chums — they've been as good and kind-
marching, us all wet and cold together — and
it wasn't their fault. If they had known — how
I wanted — to be shot — for the Union ! It was
so hard — to be — on the wrong side! But — "
He lifted his head and stared wildly at his
brother, screamed rapidly, as if summoning all
his life for the effort to explain, "Drafted,
drafted, drafted — Harry, tell mother and
father that. I was drafted. O God, O God,
what suffering 1 Both sides — I was on both
234 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
sides all the time. I loved them all, North
and South, all, — but the Union most. O God,
it was so hard!"
His head fell back, his eyes closed, and
Harry thought it was the end. But once more
Jack opened his blue eyes, and slowly said in a
steady, clear, anxious voice, "Mind you tell
them I never fired high enough !" Then he lay
still in Harry's arms, breathing fainter and
fainter till no motion was on his lips, nor in his
heart, nor any tremor in the hands that lay in
the hand of his brother in blue.
"Come, Harry," said Bader, stooping ten-
derly to the boy, "the order is to march. He's
past helping now. It's no use ; you must leave
him here to God. Come, boy, the head of the
column is moving already."
Mounting his horse, Harry looked across to
Jack's form. For the first time in two years
the famous Louisiana brigade trudged on with-
out their unwilling comrade. There he lay,
alone, in the Union lines, under the rain, his
marching done, a figure of eternal peace ; while
Harry, looking backward till he could no
longer distinguish his brother from the clay of
the field, rode dumbly on and on beside the
downcast procession of men in gray.
A TURKEY APIECE
NOT long ago I was searching files of New
York papers for 1864, when my eye caught
the headline, "Thanksgiving Dinner for the
Army." I had shared that feast. The words
brought me a vision of a cavalry brigade in
winter quarters before Petersburg; of the
three-miles-distant and dim steeples of the
besieged city; of rows and rows of canvas-
covered huts sheltering the infantry corps that
stretched interminably away toward the Army
of the James. I fancied I could hear again the
great guns of "Fort Hell" infrequently punc-
tuating the far-away picket-firing.
Rain, rain, and rain! How it fell on red
Virginia that November of '64 ! How it wore
away alertness ! The infantry-men — whom we
used to call "doughboys," for there was always
a pretended feud between the riders and the
trudgers — often seemed going to sleep in the
night in their rain-filled holes far beyond the
breastworks, each with its little mound of earth
thrown up toward the beleaguered town.
Their night-firing would slacken almost to
cessation for many minutes together. But
235
236 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
after the b-o-o-oom of a great gun it became
brisker usually; often so much so as to suggest
that some of Lee's ragged brigades, their
march silenced by the rain, had pierced our
fore-front again, and were "gobbling up" our
boys on picket, and flinging up new rifle-pits
on the acres reclaimed for a night and a day
for the tottering Confederacy.
Sometimes the crack-a-rac-a-rack would die
down to a slow fire of dropping shots, and the
forts seemed sleeping; and patter, patter, pat-
ter on the veteran canvas we heard the rain,
rain, rain, not unlike the roll of steady mus-
ketry very far away.
I think I sit again beside Charley Wilson,
my sick "buddy," and hear his uneven breath-
ing through all the stamping of the rows of
wet horses on their corduroy floor roofed with
leaky pine brush.
That squ-ush, squ-ush is the sound of the
stable-guard's boots as he paces slowly through
the mud, to and fro, with the rain rattling on
his glazed poncho and streaming corded hat.
Sometimes he stops to listen to a frantic brawl-
ing of the wagon-train mules, sometimes to
the reviving picket-firing. It crackles up to
animation for causes that we can but guess;
A TURKEY APIECE 237
then dies down, never to silence, but warns,
warns, as the distant glow of the sky above a
volcano warns of the huge waiting forces that
give it forth.
I think I hear Barney Donahoe pulling our
latch-string that November night when we first
heard of the great Thanksgiving dinner that
was being collected in New York for the army.
"Byes, did yez hear phwat Sergeant Cun-
ningham was tellin' av the Thanksgivin' tur-
keys that's comin'?"
"Come in out of the rain, Barney," says
Charley, feebly.
"Faith, I wish I dar', but it's meself is on
shtable-guard. Bedad, it's a rale fire ye've
got. Divil a better has ould Jimmy himself
(our colonel) . Ye've heard tell of the turkeys,
then, and the pois?"
"Yes. Bully for the folks at home!" says
Charley. "The notion of turkey next Thurs-
day has done me good already. I was thinking
I'd go to hospital to-morrow, but now I guess
I won't."
"Hoshpital! Kape clear av the hoshpital,
Char-les, dear. Sure, they'd cut a man's leg
off behind the ears av him for to cure him av
indigestion."
238 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"Is it going to rain all night, Barney?"
"It is, bad 'cess to it; and to-morrow and
the day afther, I'm thinkin'. The blackness
av night is outside; be jabers! you could cut it
like turf with a shpade! If it wasn't for the
ould fort flamin' out wanst in a whoile, I'd be
thinkin' I'd never an oi in my head, barrin' the
fires in the tints far an' near gives a bit of dim-
ness to the dark. Phwat time is it?"
"Quarter to twelve, Barney."
"Troth, then, the relief will be soon coming.
I must be thramping the mud av Virginia to
save the Union. Good-night, byes. I come to
give yez the good word. Kape your heart light
an' aisy, Char-les, dear. D'ye moind the tur-
keys and the pois? Faith, it's meself that has
the taste for thim dainties!"
"I don't believe I'll be able to eat a mite of
the Thanksgiving," says Charley, as we hear
Barney squ-ush away; "but just to see the
brown on a real old brown home turkey will
do me a heap of good."
"You'll be all right by Thursday, Charley,
I guess; won't you? It's only Sunday night
now."
Of course I cannot remember the very words
of that talk in the night, so many years ago.
A TURKEY APIECE 239
But the coming of Barney I recollect well, and
the general drift of what was said.
Charley turned on his bed of hay-covered
poles, and I put my hand under his gray
blanket to feel if his legs were well covered
by the long overcoat he lay in. Then I tucked
the blanket well in about his feet and shoulders,
pulled his poncho again to its full length over
him, and sat on a cracker-box looking at our
fire for a long time, while the rain spattered
through the canvas in spray.
My "buddy" Charley, the most popular boy
of Company I, was of my own age, — seven-
teen,— though the rolls gave us a year more
each, by way of compliance with the law of
enlistment. From a Pennsylvania farm in the
hills he came forth to the field early in that
black fall of '64, strong, tall, and merry, fit to
ride for the nation's life, — a mighty wielder of
an axe, "bold, cautious, true, and my loving
comrade."
We were "the kids" to Company I. To
"buddy" with Charley I gave up my share of
the hut I had helped to build as old Bader's
"pard." Then the "kids" set about the con-
struction of a new residence, which stood
farther from the parade ground than any hut
240 OLD MAN SAVAEIN STORIES
in the row except the big cabin of "old
Brownie," the "greasy cook," who called us to
"bean — oh!" with so resonant a shout, and
majestically served out our rations of pork,
"salt horse," coffee long-boiled and sickeningly
sweet, hardtack, and the daily loaf of a singu-
larly despondent-looking bread.
My "buddy" and I slept on opposite sides
of our winter residence. The bedsteads were
made of poles laid lengthwise and lifted about
two feet from the ground. These were covered
thinly with hay from the bales that were regu-
larly delivered for horse-fodder. There was a
space of about two feet between our bedsteads,
and under them we kept our saddles and
saddle-cloths.
Our floor was of earth, with a few flour-
barrel staves and cracker-box sides laid down
for rugs. We had each an easy-chair in the
form of a cracker-box, besides a stout soap-
box for guests. Our carbines and sabres hung
crossed on pegs over the mantel-piece, above
our Bibles and the precious daguerreotypes of
the dear folks at home. When we happened
to have enough wood for a bright fire, we felt
much snugger than you might suppose.
Before ever that dark November began,
A TURKEY APIECE 241
Charley had been suffering from one of those
wasting diseases that so often clung to and
carried off the strongest men of both armies.
Sharing the soldiers' inveterate prejudice
against hospitals attended by young doctors,
who, the men believed, were addicted to much
surgery for the sake of practice, my poor
"buddy" strove to do his regular duties. He
paraded with the sick before the regimental
doctor as seldom as possible. He was favored
by the sergeants and helped in every way by
the men, and so continued to stay with the
company at that wet season when drill and
parades were impracticable.
The idea of a Thanksgiving dinner for half
a million men by sea and land fascinated Char-
ley's imagination, and cheered him mightily.
But I could not see that his strength increased,
as he often alleged.
"Ned, you bet I'll be on hand when them
turkeys are served out," he would say. "You
won't need to carry my Thanksgiving dinner
up from Brownie's. Say, ain't it bully for the
folks at home to be giving us a Thanksgiving
like this? Turkeys, sausages, mince-pies!
They say there's going to be apples and celery
for all hands!"
242 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"S'pose you'll be able to eat, Charley?"
"Able! Of course I'll be able! I'll be just
as spry as you be on Thanksgiving. See if I
don't carry my own turkey all right. Yes, by
gum, if it weighs twenty pounds!"
"There won't be a turkey apiece."
"No, eh? Well, that's what I figure on.
Half a turkey, anyhow. Got to be; besides
chickens, hams, sausages, and all that kind of
fixin's. You heard what Bill Sylvester's girl
wrote from Philamadink-a-daisy-oh? No, eh?
Well, he come in a-purpose to read me the
letter. Says there's going to be three or four
hundred thousand turkeys, besides them fixin's !
Sherman's boys can't get any ; they're marched
too far away, out of reach. The Shenandoah
boys '11 get some, and Butler's crowd, and us
chaps, and the blockading squadrons. Bill's
girl says so. We'll get the whole lot between
us. Four hundred thousand turkeys! Of
course there'll be a turkey apiece; there's got
to be, if there's any sense in arithmetic. Oh,
I'll be choosin' between breast-meat and hind-
legs on Thanksgiving, — you bet your sweet life
on that!"
This expectation that there would be a tur-
key apiece was not shared by Company I ; but
A TURKEY APIECE 243
no one denied it in Charley's hearing. The
boy held it as sick people often do fantastic
notions, and all fell into the humor of strength-
ening the reasoning on which he went.
It was clear that no appetite for turkey
moved my poor "buddy," but that his brain
was busy with the "whole-turkey-a-piece" idea
as one significant of the immense liberality of
the folks at home, and their absorbing interest
in the army.
"Where's there any nation that ever was that
would get to work and fix up four hundred
thousand turkeys for the boys?" he often re-
marked, with ecstatic patriotism.
I have often wondered why "Bill Sylvester's
girl" gave that flourishing account of the prep-
arations for our Thanksgiving dinner. It was
only on searching the newspaper files recently
that I surmised her sources of information.
Newspapers seldom reached our regiment until
they were several weeks old, and then they
were not much read, at least by me. Now I
know how enthusiastic the papers of Novem-
ber, '64, were on the great feast for the army.
For instance, on the morning of that
Thanksgiving day, the 24th of November, the
New York Tribune said editorially: —
244 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"Forty thousand turkeys, eighty thousand
turkeys, one hundred and sixty thousand tur-
keys, nobody knows how many" turkeys have
been sent to our soldiers. Such masses of
breast-meat and such mountains of stuffing;
drumsticks enough to fit out three or four
Grand Armies, a 'perfect promontory of pope's
noses, a mighty aggregate of wings. The gifts
of their lordships to the supper which Gran-
gousier spread to welcome Gargantua were
nothing to those which our good people at
home send to their friends in the field; and no
doubt every soldier, if his dinner does not set
him thinking too intently of that home, will
prove himself a valiant trencherman."
Across the vast encampment before Peters-
burg a biting wind blew that Thanksgiving
day. It came through every cranny of our
hut; it bellied the canvas on one side and
tightened it on the other; it pressed flat down
the smoke from a hundred thousand mud chim-
neys, and swept away so quickly the little coals
which fell on the canvas that they had not time
to burn through.
When I went out towards noon, for perhaps
the twentieth time that day, to learn whether
our commissary wagons had returned from
City Point with the turkeys, the muddy parade
A TURKEY APIECE 245
ground was dotted with groups of shivering
men, all looking anxiously for the feast's ar-
rival. Officers frequently came out, to ex-
change a few cheery words with their men,
from the tall, close hedge of withering pines
stuck on end that enclosed the officers' quarters
on the opposite side of the parade ground.
No turkeys at twelve o'clock ! None at one !
Two, three, four, five o'clock passed by, and
still nothing had been heard of our absent
wagons. Charley was too weak to get out
that day, but he cheerfully scouted the idea
that a turkey for each man would not arrive
sooner or later.
The rest of us dined and supped on "com-
missary." It was not good commissary either,
for Brownie, the "greasy cook," had gone on
leave to visit a "doughboy" cousin of the Sixth
Corps.
"You'll have turkey for dinner, boys," he
had said, on serving out breakfast. "If you're
wanting coffee, Tom can make it." Thus we
had to dine and sup on the amateur produc-
tions of the cook's mate.
A multitude of woful rumors concerning the
absent turkeys flew round that evening. The
"Johnnies," we heard, had raided round the
246 OLD MAN SAVARIN STOKIES
army, and captured the fowls! Butler's col-
ored troops had got all the turkeys, and had
been feeding on fowl for two days! The offi-
cers had "gobbled" the whole consignment for
their own use ! The whole story of the Thanks-
giving dinner was a newspaper hoax! Noth-
ing was too incredible for men so bitterly
disappointed.
Brownie returned before "lights out"
sounded, and reported facetiously that the
"doughboys" he had visited were feeding full
of turkey and all manner of fixings. There
were so many wagons waiting at City Point
that the roads round there were blocked for
miles. We could not fail to get our turkeys
to-morrow. With this expectation we went,
pretty happy, to bed.
"There'll be a turkey apiece, you'll see, Ned,"
said Charley, in a confident, weak voice, as
I turned in. "We'll all have a bully Thanks-
giving to-morrow."
The morrow broke as bleak as the preceding
day, and without a sign of turkey for our
brigade. But about twelve o'clock a great
shouting came from the parade ground.
"The turkeys have come!" cried Charley,
trying to rise. "Never mind picking out a
A TURKEY APIECE 247
big one for me; any one will do. I don't
believe I can eat a bite, but I want to see it.
My ain't it kind of the folks at home!"
I ran out and found his surmise as to the
return of the wagons correct. They were
filing into the enclosure around the quarter-
master's tent. Nothing but an order that the
men should keep to company quarters pre-
vented the whole regiment helping to unload
the delicacies of the season.
Soon foraging parties went from each com-
pany to the quartermaster's enclosure. Com-
pany I sent six men. They returned, grinning,
in about half an hour, with one box on one
man's shoulders.
It was carried to Sergeant Cunningham's
cabin, the nearest to the parade ground, the
most distant from that of "the kids," in which
Charley lay waiting. We crowded round the
hut with some sinking of enthusiasm. There
was no cover on the box except a bit of cotton
in which some of the consignment had prob-
ably been wrapped. Brownie whisked this off,
and those nearest Cunningham's door saw dis-
closed— two small turkeys, a chicken, four
rather disorganized pies, two handsome bologna
sausages, and six very red apples.
248 OLD MAN SAVAKIN STORIES
We were nearly seventy men. The comical
side of the case struck the boys instantly.
Their disappointment was so extreme as
to be absurd. There might be two ounces
of feast to each, if the whole were equally
shared.
All hands laughed; not a man swore. The
idea of an equal distribution seemed to have no
place in that company. One proposed that all
should toss up for the lot. Another suggested
drawing lots; a third that we should set the
Thanksgiving dinner at one end of the parade
ground and run a race for it, "grab who can."
At this Barney Donahue spoke up.
"Begorra, yez can race for wan turkey av
yez loike. But the other wan is goin' to
Char-les Wilson!"
There was not a dissenting voice. Charley
was altogether the most popular member of
Company I, and every man knew how he had
clung to the turkey apiece idea.
"Never let on a word," said Sergeant Cun-
ningham. "He'll think there's a turkey for
every man!"
The biggest bird, the least demoralized pie,
a bologna sausage, and the whole six apples
were placed in the cloth that had covered the
A TURKEY APIECE 249
box. I was told to carry the display to my
poor "buddy."
As I marched down the row of tents a
tremendous yelling arose from the crowd round
Cunningham's tent. I turned to look behind.
Some man with a riotous impulse had seized
the box and flung its contents in the air over
the thickest of the crowd. Next moment the
turkey was seized by half a dozen hands. As
many more helped to tear it to pieces. Barney
Donahoe ran past me with a leg, and two
laughing men after him. Those who secured
larger portions took a bite as quickly as pos-
sible, and yielded the rest to clutching hands.
The bologna sausage was shared in like
fashion, but I never heard of any one who got
a taste of the pies.
"Here's your turkey, Charley," said I,
entering with my burden.
"Where's yours, Ned?"
"I've got my turkey all right enough at
Cunningham's tent."
"Didn't I tell you there'd be a turkey
apiece?" he cried gleefully, as I unrolled the
lot. "And sausages, apples, a whole pie — oh,
say, ain't they bully folks up home!"
"They are," said I. "I believe we'd have
250 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
had a bigger Thanksgiving yet if it wasn't
such a trouble getting it distributed."
"You'd better believe it! They'd do any-
thing in the world for the army," he said,
lying back.
"Can't you eat a bite, buddy?"
"No ; I'm not a mite hungry. But I'll look
at it. It won't spoil before to-morrow. Then
you can share it all out among the boys."
Looking at the turkey, the sick lad fell
asleep. Barney Donahoe softly opened our
door, stooped his head under the lintel, and
gazed a few moments at the quiet face turned
to the Thanksgiving turkey. Man after man
followed to gaze on the company's favorite,
and on the fowl which, they knew, tangibly
symbolized to him the immense love of the
nation for the flower of its manhood in the
field. Indeed, the people had forwarded an
enormous Thanksgiving feast; but it was im-
possible to distribute it evenly, and we were
one of the regiments that came short.
Grotesque, that scene? Group after group
of hungry, dirty soldiers, gazing solemnly,
lovingly, at a lone brown turkey and a pallid
sleeping boy! Very grotesque. But Charley
had his Thanksgiving dinner, and the men of
A TURKEY APIECE 251
Company I, perhaps, enjoyed a profounder
satisfaction than if they had feasted more
materially.
I never saw Charley after that Thanksgiving
day. Before the afternoon was half gone the
doctor sent an ambulance for him, and insisted
that he should go to City Point. By Christ-
mas his wasted body had lain for three weeks
in the red Virginia soil.
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND
THE Boer puzzled us. It was not because he
loomed so big in the haze against the sunset ; but
he seemed at a mile's distance to detect us. We
thought the cover perfect, for the hackthorn
tops were higher than our horses' heads. If he
from so far could see patches of khaki through
bushes, his eyes must be better than our field-
glasses. If he did not see us, why did he wave
his hat as in salutation?
"Maybe he only suspect one patrol at de
ford. Vat you t'ink, Sergeant McTavish?"
said Lieutenant Deschamps to me.
"Perhaps he thinks some of his own kind
may hold the ford," I suggested.
The others said nothing. They were fifteen
French Canadians, including Corporal Jong-
ers. We lay still behind our prone horses, and
kept our Krags on the Boer.
He seemed to diminish as he advanced slowly
from the mirage, but still he looked uncom-
monly big — and venerable, too. His hair and
beard grew long and white, though he sat up as
252
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 253
alert as any young man. At ten yards a pack-
pony followed him. When half a mile away
the burgher raised both hands above his head.
"He come for surrender, you t'ink, ser-
geant?" Lieutenant Deschamps is a gentle-
man. Because I was of another race he always
treated me with more than the consideration
due to a good non-com. Or possibly it was be-
cause he knew I had been advocate in Montreal
before joining the mounted Canadian contin-
gent.
"Better keep down and keep him covered,"
I replied. "That may be a signal." I stared
about the horizon. The veldt was bare, except
for the straggle of hackthorns fringing the
curve about the ford. There could be no other
Boer within three miles of us, unless hidden by
the meanderings of the Wolwe, which runs
twelve feet below the plain. But we had
searched ten miles of its bed during the day.
Westward lay the kopjes from among which
the old Boer had apparently ridden.
He came calmly down the breach of the op-
posite bank and as far as the middle of the
brawling shallow within fifty yards of us be-
fore Deschamps cried "Halt !" At the word we
sprang up, accoutrements rattling, horses
254 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
snorting. The old burgher looked up at usx
quizzically, passing his hand down his beard
and gathering its length above his mouth be-
fore he spoke.
"Take care some of those guns don't go off,"
he said, with no trace of Dutch accent.
"You surrender?" Deschamps stepped for-
ward.
"Sir, I am going to Swartzdorp. Did you
not see me hold up my hands?"
"But for sure you could not see us here?"
He smiled and pointed up to the sky. In
the blue a vulture swung wide above us. "So
I knew," said the burgher, "Khakis were hid-
ing. Boers would have come out. They would
have recognized me."
"Your name?"
"Emanuel Swartz."
"Bon! The great landowner! I have much
pleasure to see you. Come in, monsieur. Eef
only you brought in your commando, how
glad!"
"They may come yet," he said. "It de-
pends." He shook his rein, and the big bay
brought him up the breach into the midst of us.
The pack-pony, which had imitated his halt,
followed.
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 255
"You will not stop me. I have private busi-
ness at Swartzdorp," he said.
"Truly I regret," said Deschamps. "But my
orders! Here you must stay, monsieur, this
night. To-morrow General Pole. He will be
most glad to parole you, I have hope."
"Oh, very well, lieutenant," said Swartz,
philosophically. "I dare say he won't send me
to St. Helena." He dismounted, leaving his
Mauser strapped to his saddle. Then he
handed me his bandoleer. "I make you wel-
come to my pack also," he said hospitably.
"There's some biltong and meal. Perhaps it
will improve your fare."
"It will be poor stuff if it doesn't," I told
him.
"You give your parole, sir?" asked Des-
champs.
"For the night, yes. I will not try to es-
cape."
His cordial, easy accents came with a certain
surprising effect from one who was so unkempt
and, in spite of his years, so formidable. I had
never before seen one of the great Boer land-
owners. In his manner one could perceive, if
not a certain condescension, at least the elevated
kindness of a patriarchal gentleman accus-
256 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
tomed to warm by affability the hearts of many
descendants and dependents. About Swartz-
dorp we had heard much of his English mother,
his English wife, and his lifelong friendship
with English officers and gentlemen. It did
not seem surprising that he should have come
in voluntarily now that Bloemfontein and
Pretoria were in Lord Roberts's hands.
It was cold for us in khaki that evening by
the Wolwe, though we did not lack overcoats.
The spruit tinkled icily along patches of gravel
in the blue clay, and late June's high moon
seemed pouring down a Canadian wintriness.
"No fire," ordered Deschamps, lest far-sighted
Boer parties, skilled in surprises, might locate
us. But the old burgher showed how to make
small glowing heaps of dry offal, which had
been plentifully left of old by troops of deer
and antelope coming to drink at the spruit.
Over one of these tiny smokeless fires our lieu-
tenant sat with the prisoner. I think I see
again the reflection of the little flame flicker-
ing on the old giant's enormous beard and
shapely outspread hands.
We had supped heavily on his meat and
meal, but sleep in that nipping air came by
dozes only, and drowsiness departed when
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 257
digestion had relieved repletion. At midnight,
when the vedettes were changed and the moon
sagged low, we all were more wakeful than
early in the evening. There had been little talk,
and that in the low voices of endurance; but
now Deschamps and Swartz fell into discourse
about the Kimberley mines. This led to dis-
cussing the greater diamonds of South Africa,
and so on till the burgher began a story
stranger than fiction :
"One of the biggest stones ever taken from
blue clay is still uncut. It has never been
offered for sale. Near this very place it was
found by Vassell Swartz, my cousin. The man
is not rich even for a Free State burgher. He
is fond of money. He believes his diamond to
be worth twelve thousand pounds. No man
could wish harder to sell anything. And yet
he has not offered it. He has not even shown
it. His wife has not seen it. He has had it con-
stantly near him for eleven years. He has
handled it frequently — in its setting. But he
has not ventured to look at it since the morning
after he found it. You wonder at that. Is it
possible a rough diamond can shine so bright
as dangerously to dazzle the eyes ? No ; Vassell
would be glad to stare at it all day. But its
258 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
setting prevents him. And yet he set it him-
self."
The old burgher paused and looked about on
our puzzled faces with some air of satisfaction
at their interest.
"It is quite a riddle," said Deschamps.
"So it is. And I will make it harder. You
have been told that we Boers think nothing of
killing Kaffirs? But all Swartzdorp could tell
you that my cousin Vassell could scarcely bear
to let a Kaffir out of his sight. That is mysteri-
ous ? Well, I will not go on talking in parables.
I will tell you the thing just as I heard it from
Vassell or know about it myself.
"Eleven years ago, Vassell and his brother,
my cousin Claas, went off as usual to Makori's
country beyond the Limpopo, elephant-hunt-
ing. Ivory was so plenty that they trekked
back a month earlier than they had expected.
On the return Vassell's riding-horse fell lame
not long after crossing this very Wolwe spruit
by a higher ford. My cousin gave the beast no
rest till evening, and no attention until after
they had made a laager against lions and had
eaten supper. Then he took a brand from the
fire and looked into the hoof. In it he found a
whitish stone of about the bigness of an ele-
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 259
phant-bullet of six to the pound. It was of the
colour of alum, and in the torchlight it glistened
as the scale of a fish.
"Vassell had never seen a rough diamond.
And he had heard of diamonds as brighter than
glittering glass. He thought only that the
pebble was a pretty stone. The man's heart
was soft with nearing his wife and children, so
he slipped the pebble into his empty elephant-
bullet pouch, thinking to give it for a toy to his
little Anna. There it lay forgotten until his
fingers went groping for a bullet at the next
daybreak. Kaffirs were then trying to rush my
cousins' laager.
"Wild Kaffirs these were, driven from Kim-
berley for unruliness in drink. They were
going back to their tribe; they had come far
without food, and they smelled the meat and
meal in the wagons — so Matakit afterward
told. But no hunger could have driven them
against a Boer laager. They mistook the wa-
gons for the wagons of Englishmen."
The French Canadians smiled unoffended,
but my jaws snapped. Swartz turned to me
courteously :
"They mistook the wagons for those of Eng-
lish traders unskilled in arms and trekking pro-
260 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
visions to the mines. Though their first rush
showed them their mistake, they went mad over
their losses and came on twice more. Then they
guessed, from the way my cousins reserved
their fire, that their ammunition was low. So
Matakit howled them on for a fourth rush.
"My cousins and their six Christian Kaffirs
were now in alarm, for their cartridges were
nearly all gone. It was then that Vassell's
fingers groped in his elephant-bullet pouch,
where he felt something rounding out the
leather. That was the forgotten pebble. But
its bigness was too great for the muzzle-load-
ing elephant-rifle. So my cousin rammed it
into the wide-mouthed, old-fashioned roer, a
blunderbuss that our fathers' fathers praised
because it frightened Kaffirs more than it hurt
them. In justice to the roer it should have been
loaded with a handful of slugs. But with only
powder and the pebble it made such flash and
noise that all the living wild blacks, but one,
ran away howling. The one that fell before
Vassell's pebble was the biggest of all, and their
leader. There he lay kicking 'and bellowing like
a buffalo bull, ten yards from the wagons.
" 'While he bawled we knelt in the laager/
Vassell told me, 'and we offered up thanks for
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 261
this our deliverance, even like unto the deliver-
ance of David by the pebble of the brook.'
"Then they ate breakfast while their Kaffirs
inspanned, and still the wild one roared.
' 'It would be merciful, brother Vassell,'
said Claas as they drank coffee, 'to put the
Lord's creature out of his pain.'
' 'Nay,' said Vassell; 'my conscience will not
consent to what Free State law might call
murder. And, moreover, the Kaffir's pain is a
plain judgment of the Almighty.' Vassell is
a dopper, like Oom Paul, and a dopper is quick
to see the Almighty operating through himself.
So they left the black thief gnashing, with five
more who lay still, meat for vultures' beaks or
lions' jaws.
"In four or five hours' time my cousins were
nigh to Truter's drift on the Modder. There
they saw two Englishmen and one Israelite dig-
ging into the blue-clay shoal.
' 'Good day,' shouts Claas. 'What are you
digging for?'
' 'Diamonds, Dutchman, d — n you,' said the
Englishmen, laughing.
"They came up out of the river-bed and
showed my cousins four small rough stones
which they had found elsewhere.
262 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"Vassell looked closely at the stones. Then
he knew that his pebble had been a great gem.
He put innocent, simple dopper questions
about the value of diamonds. And the Israel-
ite said that a first-rate stone of the bigness of
more than an elephant-bullet would be worth
from twelve to twenty thousand pounds. Vas-
sell felt that Israelite's eyes piercing him, and
so he gave no more sign of excitement than a
skull. But he was wondering if the grand-
fathers' old roer had sent the pebble through
the Kaffir, which seemed unlikely.
"My cousins traded the flesh of a spring-
bok for cartridges, and the English went away
up the spruit, while Claas got ready to cross at
Truter's. But Vassell made delay ; he said that
hunger was rummaging his inside.
" 'And that was the truth, Emanuel,' he told
me later, 'for we had trekked since dawn. But
it is not always needful to tell all the truth.
Was I to arouse in Claas a greedy desire to
share in the diamond? True,' said Vassell, 'we
had agreed to share and share alike in the hunt,
but the stone was not ivory, skin, nor meat, and
I alone found it. We are commanded to agree
with our adversary "in the way with him."
And by halting in that place for the boiling of
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 263
coffee there would be time to pray for direction.
If the Almighty would have us trek back to the
wounded Kaffir, it would be wise to turn before
crossing at Truter's.'
"Of course my cousin Claas, when he heard
of Vassell's hunger, felt hungry too, and the
Kaffirs were told to prepare the meal. Mean-
time Vassell took his Bible from the wagon-
box and fell on his knees. He expected the
Lord would order him back to the Wolwe, and
so it happened. But to induce Cla'as to obey
the Lord's direction without understanding the
whole thing was the trouble.
"Like an inspiration a familiar text came to
Vassell's mind. 'Blessed are the merciful: for
they shall obtain mercy.' He showed this to
Claas as his reason for turning about. The text
had a new meaning for Vassell. I tell you
again he felt that he had been inspired to re-
member it. You have to bear that in mind, or
you will not rightly understand how his brain
was afterward affected.
" 'But it would be foolishness to apply the
text to a wild Kaffir four hours' trek back,' said
Claas.
" 'Nay, not if the Kaffir be subdued,' said
Vassell.
264 OLD MAN SAVAEIN STORIES
" 'He is more than subdued ; he is dead,'
said Claas.
" 'Nay, he may not yet have perished,' said
Vassell. But he felt sure the black was dead.
And he felt equally sure he had been inspired
to understand that he himself should obtain
mercy in the shape of the diamond if he re-
turned even as the good Samaritan to the Kaffir
fallen by the way. Still Claas was stiff-necked,
until Vassell opened the Book at Jeremiah iii.
12: 'Return, . . . for I am merciful, saith
the Lord.' He handed it to Claas without a
word.
"Claas naturally supposed that Vassell had
opened the Bible at random, as the doppers
often do when they are seeking direction. And
hence Claas saw in this text a clear leading back
to the Wolwe. Yet he wished to rest and
smoke tobacco for a long hour after eating.
But Vassell was greatly inspired with texts
that day. He pointed to I Samuel xx. 38:
'Jonathan cried after the lad, Make speed,
haste, stay not.' Then he fell into such a groan-
ing and sighing about it that Cla'as could not
smoke in peace.
' 'Anything is better than your rumblings,'
said Claas, and so they hastened on the back-
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 265
ward course. 'For/ as Vassell told me, 'I was
in deep tribulation of fear lest the vultures
might gulp down the diamond, or some beak
strike it afar.' '
Here the huge old burgher sat up straighter
and paused so unexpectedly that his sudden si-
lence was startling. I imagined he listened to
something far off in the stillness of the wan-
ing moon. Lieutenant Deschamps and the
French Canadians sat indifferent, but I sprang
up and put hands to my ears. Nothing could I
hear but the occasional stamping of our horses,
the walking hoofs of our vedettes by the river's
bend, and the clinking of swift water over
gravel.
"Did you hear something strange?" the pa-
triarch asked me.
"Did you?" I asked.
"Is it likely that a great-grandfather's ears
can hear better than a young man's?" he asked
courteously.
"But you stopped to listen," I replied.
Then he shamed me by saying gently : "An
old voice may need a little rest. But now I will
go on:
"My cousins trekked back as fast as their
oxen could walk. They found the Kaffir still
266 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
squirming, and covering his eyes from the vul-
tures. This went to Vassell's heart. He could
not cut the diamond out of the living. And
perhaps it was not in the man. Vassell drove
away the vultures and examined the wound.
Then his heart was lifted up exceedingly, for
as he told me, 'fear had been heavy in me lest
the diamond had gone clear through the Kaffir
and been lost on the veldt. But now my fingers
felt it under the flesh of his back. An inch
more had sent it through. And it seemed so
sure the pagan must die before morning that
my conscience was clear against extracting the
stone in haste.'
"This Wolwe Veldt was then Lion Veldt,
and Vassell thought it prudent to carry the
Kaffir into the night-laager, for lions bolt big
chunks, and the diamond might be in one of
them. Claas consented, and so the tame Kaffirs
lugged the wild one into one of the ivory-
wagons, and left him to die at his leisure.
"Late in the night Vassell, wakened by Claas
snoring, felt a strong temptation. He might
get up and knife out the stone unseen. 'But I
put the temptation away/ he told me, 'for my
movement might waken Claas, or the Kaffir
might kick or groan under the knife, and my
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 267
brother might spy on me. So I mercifully
awaited the hour when the Lord would let the
diamond come into my hands without Claas sus-
pecting anything. Besides, it was 'against my
conscience to cut the Kaffir up warm when it
seemed so sure he would be cold before morn-
ing.'
"But next morning the Kaffir was neither
dead nor alive. And my cousins were keen to
see their wives and children. They must trek
on. But Vassell could not leave the diamond.
'And to end the Kaffir's life was,' he told me,
'more than ever against my conscience. That
first text, "Blessed are the merciful: for they
shall obtain mercy," kept coming back into
my mind. It scared me. It seemed to mean
I should have the diamond to myself only if I
spared the Kaffir. If I killed him Claas might
see me extract the stone and claim half. More-
over, I felt sure the jolting of the wagon would
end the pagan soon.'
"So they trekked. When they outspanned
at Swartzdorp, two days later, the Kaffir was
more alive than on the first day. No reward
yet for conscientious Vassell ! He stayed only
a day with his wife, and then trekked for
Bloemfontein with the Kaffir in his horse-
268 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
wagon. Claas stayed at Swartzdorp. And all
at Swartzdorp thought Vassell had gone crazy
about the black.
"I was then residing in Bloemfontein, at-
tending a meeting of the Raad. There I saw
Vassell gaping at me in the market-place.
Never before had I seen trouble in the man's
face. When he told me he had brought a hurt
Kaffir 'all the miles from Swartzdorp I felt
sure the man was mad.
" 'It may be the Kaffir saved your life from
lions?' I asked him.
" 'Nay ; I saved his life,' he groaned. 'For
we are commanded to do good unto our en-
emies. And, moreover, this is the Kaffir I fired
it into.'
" 'Fired what?' I asked, not then knowing a
word of it all.
" 'Emanuel,' he said, 'my soul is deep in
trouble, and surely God has sent you to counsel
me. He commanded me to bring the Kaffir
here. The text he put into my mind will not
go out of my mind. I dream of it each night,
and I dream of the Kaffir with it, so it must
mean him. And to be merciful that I may
obtain the promised mercy I have brought him
to the hospital.'
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 269
'What does this rant mean? Put it in
plain Taal,' I said.
"Vassell looked all about the market-place,
tiptoed his lips to my ears, and whispered,
'Come into my horse-wagon.'
"I climbed up in front under the cover, and
then heard breathing behind the seat. There
lay the Kaffir. I turned on Vassell with 'You
said you brought him to the hospital.'
' 'I am afraid to take him there.'
' 'Afraid they will require you to pay?'
' 'Nay, that is not the trouble. I will reveal
all to you.'
"Then he whispered to me all that I have
told you, my friends.
' 'It was borne in on me,' Vassell said, 'that
the surgeons would cut out the diamond to save
the Kaffir's life, and thus I should obtain the
mercy. But now I am in fear they will not let
me be present at the operation. They will keep
the diamond if they get time to examine it.'
" 'Drive to the hospital,' I said. 'They will
let you be present. I will arrange that. Have
you money?'
"Yes; he had sold his four best tusks for
English gold. So he had plenty to pay the
doctors if a bribe should prove necessary.
270 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"But it was not needed. The house-surgeon
had the Kaffir carried in, and they examined
him in our presence. Then they told Vassell
it was a beautiful case involving the kidneys in
some extraordinary way, and they wished to
watch what would happen if Matakit lived —
that was the outrageous Kaffir's name. To cut
the bullet out, they said — for you may be sure
Vassell never mentioned diamond to them —
would kill the Kaffir. And if they killed him
quickly, medical science might forego valuable
knowledge which it might gain if they didn't
operate an hour before he was quite out of
danger by the wound.
"Think of my conscientious cousin's sad
situation !" The old giant gazed about on us as
if without guile. "Twelve thousand pounds!
And the surgeons would not let him take the
Kaffir away. Nor would they let Vassell stay
in the ward with his diamond! And he dared
not tell the doctors why the operation would
have comforted him, lest they should secretly
explore the Kaffir as diamondiferous clay!"
Here again the tale paused. A sardonic
tone had for an instant been steely in the
genial voice. But the face of the old man was
as in a placid dream. We volunteers, trust-
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 271
ing all to our vedettes, grinned, thinking only
of Vassell's dilemma. The burgher seemed to
ponder on it ; or maybe, I thought, he was rest-
ing his voice again. So ten seconds passed.
Then I heard the rush and grunt of a flac-flarc,
the veldt pig. It seemed to have been startled
out of the spruit by a vedette, for we faintly
heard a horse snort and a man scold. The moon
was now very low, but 'all seemed unchanged
except for an increasing restlessness of the
picketed horses. They had replied to the snort
of the vedette's beast. In an interval of tense
silence, the old Africander stared about on our
faces with a curious inspection that I now think
of as having been one of such pity as the deaf
perceive in other men's faces. But at the time
I supposed he but wished to assure himself that
all were attentively awaiting the rest of his
story.
Yet when the old burgher spoke again he
seemed to have forgotten the great Swartz dia-
mond.
"Such silence on this veldt!" he murmured.
"I remember it alive with great game. Not
twenty miles from here I have lain often awake
in the night to a concert of lions and hyenas
and jackals, with the stamping of wildebeests,
272 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
and the barking of quaggas, and the rushing
away of springbok and blesbok as the breeze
gave them our scent. Now we hear nothing,
my friends — nothing whatever moving on the
plain?"
"Only the horses and the pickets and the
stream," said Deschamps.
"But I," said the old burgher, "hear more.
I hear the sounds of ghosts of troops of great
game. And I hear with those sounds other
sounds as of the ghosts of a needless war." He
sighed heavily, and seemed to sink into sad
reverie.
Deschamps and his French volunteers would
not interrupt him, but I was impatient. "How
did your cousin get at the diamond?" I
asked.
"He did not get at it." The whitebeard
roused up amiably and resumed his tale :
"And yet he did not part with it. For six
weeks the Kaffir improved in the Bloemf ontein
hospital. Then the day came when the sur-
geons told my cousin they could learn nothing
more of the lovely case from outside. I do not
know whether they really meant to vivisect the
Kaffir, but V'assell was sure of it, for he had
that diamond on the brain. He longed to have
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 273
the Kaffir live out his allotted span — at Swartz-
dorp.
' 'Surely I must be with Matakit at his end-
ing,' said Vassell to me.
"Now Matakit had been told how Vassell
had mercifully saved him, and he wished for
nothing better than to be Vassell' s man. So,
in the night, after my cousin had whispered to
the Kaffir that the surgeons meant to cut him
open, Matakit jumped out of the hospital win-
dow and hurried to Vassell's horse-wagon wait-
ing on the Modder road.
"My friends, to tell you all the sad expe-
rience of my cousin with that Kaffir I should
need to be with you for a week. Our time for
talk together is too short — indeed, I seem to
hear it going in the hackthorn tops. But still
I can give you a little more.
"Consider, then, that Vassell's family al-
ready thought him demented for bringing the
wild black from the Wolwe. Trekking with
him to Bloemfontein was worse, and carrying
him back appeared complete lunacy. But Vas-
sell was the head of a Boer family and must be
obeyed by his household, from Tante Anna, his
wife, to the smallest Kaffir baby bred on his
farm.
274 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"He told no one but me of the battle in his
soul. It was this : the more he longed to knife
the diamond out, the more his conscience was
warned with that text the Lord had sent him.
He had now a fixed idea that he would some-
how lose the diamond unless he was merciful to
Matakit.
"Out of sight of the Kaffir my cousin could
not be easy, he feared so much the black would
run away. To prevent that, Vassell at first car-
ried a loaded rifle all day long. At night he
locked the Kaffir in the room partitioned from
his own. Its windows he barred with iron bars.
This was to save Matakit from the Christian
Kaffirs on the farm. At first they were likely
to kill him in the dark, such was their jealousy
of the wild man honored by a bed in the house
of the baas, while their own Christian bones had
to rest in the huts and the sheds.
"But their jealousy changed to deadly fear
of Matakit. They imagined that he had be-
witched the baas. Matakit, being no fool, soon
smelled out that fear. As a witch doctor he
lorded it over them. He began to roll in fat,
for they brought to his teeth the best of their
food. As for their women!
"At last Tante Anna looked into this thing.
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 275
Then the blood of her mother of the Great Trek
ran hot in her. I happened to be visiting there
at the time. She herself went at the pagan
with the sjambok. Vassell turned his back, for
he approved the lashing, but the Kaffir so
groveled and howled under the whip that my
cousin's conscience rose up untimely. It told
him that he would be guilty, for the diamond's
sake, of complicity in the killing if he did not
interfere. Whereupon he took the sjambok
from Tante Anna's hands, and ordered her to
deal kindly with the Kaffir, as before.
' 'Kindly ! The black beast is destroying
Christianity on our farm!' she wailed. 'I will
slay him with my own hands. And I hope I
have done it already ! !'
" 'Alas ! no, Anna,' said Vassell. 'He will
live. You have given him a reason to run
away.'
' 'Run away? I wish to the Lord he would
run away !'
' 'No, no, my woman,' Vassell whispered.
'You do not understand. Tell it to nobody —
but the Kaffir is worth twelve thousand Eng-
lish pounds to me !'
"She turned to me laughing. 'Twelve thou-
sand pounds. My poor demented man!'
276 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
'When he dies I will prove it,' said Vassell.
" 'What! A dead Kaffir worth a fortune?'
She was all contempt for Vassell's folly.
"Of course he wished to explain to her. But
he had an opinion that Matakit's days might
be few if Tante Anna came to understand the
meaning of the lump on Matakit's black back.
Vassell's uncontrollable conscience required
her to be no more unmerciful to Matakit. If
Anna's sjambok cut out the stone, it might be
lost in the litter of the yard.
"Well, my friends, the word went up and
down the Orange Free State, and far into the
Colony, and away across the Vaal, that
Burgher Vassell Swartz was crazy with kind-
ness for a wild Kaffir! Of course I denied it,
and that carried weight, but the mystery grew,
for I could not explain the case, so strong was
Vassell in holding me to secrecy. To get my
cousin out of his trouble I advised him to lend
Matakit to me, but he would not agree. Pos-
sibly he suspected me of wishing to dig for the
diamond.
"Ten years this sorrow lasted, and all the
time Matakit grew fatter, till he could scarcely
walk. He was the most overbearing black in
all South Africa. What he suspected I do not
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 277
know, but when he became sure Vassell would
not let him be hurt much he wantonly abused
the patience of even his devoted baas. Poor
Vassell! Sometimes, to ease his sorrows, he
used the sjambok on Matakit, but always too
gently. Often he raised his gun to end it all;
indeed, he got into a way of thinking that the
devil was continually instigating him to kill the
Kaffir. And every dopper knows that to yield
consciously to the devil is the unforgivable
sin."
The ancient burgher paused once more.
And again we, whose senses were trained but
to the narrow spaces between Canadian wood-
lands, heard nothing but a sudden louder
tumult of gathered horses, the hoofs of the
vedettes, and the tinkle of the spruit. I could
not guess why old Emanuel looked so well
pleased. He loomed taller, it seemed, as he
squatted. It was as if with new vivacity that
he spoke on:
"The strange things my poor cousin did! I
will tell you of at least one more. Five years of
Matakit went by, and never again had Vassell
gone hunting afar, for he could not leave the
fat Kaffir behind, and he feared Matakit would
run away if he got near the country of his tribe.
278 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
But in the sixth year a new inspiration came to
Vassell. The Lord might send a lion if he
took Matakit where lions might be convenient
for sending. Doppers 'always regard lions as
dispensations of Providence when they kill
pagan Kaffirs. So he brought Matakit afar to
the Lion Veldt. There Vassell would not let
his men make a laager — he slept in 'a wagon
himself. And the Lord did send a lion in the
night. The blacks lay by the fire. And when
it fell low that lion bore a man away out into
the darkness at two leaps.
''Baas! ba'as!' Vassell heard his Kaffirs
shout. 'Baas! The lion has taken Matakit!'
For they had been dozing, and now missed the
fat black.
"The Lord had sent the lion, but the devil
was carrying away the diamond. Vassell must
be in at the ending, as he had planned. So out
with his rifle he sprang, seized a brand, and
ran, whirling it into flame, on the dragged
body's spoor.
" 'Come back ! Oh, baas, come back ! The
veldt is full of lions !' So the Kaffirs shrieked.
But twelve thousand pounds is not forsaken by
a Boer hunter for fear of lions. On Vassell
ran. He would beat off the lion with the torch.
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 279
Happy would be his rich life without Matakit !
Plainly the Lord would be merciful to him be-
cause he had been merciful as commanded by
the text.
"But from the wagons came now a bawl:
'Baas ! Baas ! I am here, I, Matakit ! I was
in a wagon.' He had sneaked away from the
fire. 'It is but Impugan that the lion has
taken.'
"Back went Vassell in rage. Now he would
finish the Kaffir! For what would his other
Kaffirs, the Christians he had bred, his best
hunters, too — what would they think but that
he valued the accursed pagan above brave old
Impugan and all the rest of them? Yet he only
beat put his torch on Matakit's head before
the diseased conscience stayed his hand once
more."
Again the white-beard burgher paused. The
picketed horses were now still. The moon was
gone, and the spruit chattered in starlit dark-
ness. There was no sound of the vedettes, but
that was not strange. Yet uneasiness came
over me. My comrades shared it. We all
stared 'at the gigantic prisoner with some suspi-
cion that I could not define. He seemed un-
canny. From an old man, and especially an old
280 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Boer, sneers seemed unnatural. Some diabol-
ical amusement seemed to animate him. As he
jeered his cousin he seemed to jeer us. At first
I had liked his genial tone. Now he gave me a
sense of repulsion. For this I was trying to
account when the old burgher stooped and
freshened the fire with mealie cobs. The sparks
flew high. In that momentary light he re-
sumed his story :
"My cousin Vassell was of my Swartzdorp
commando when this war began, but he is now
a prisoner in St. Helena. Before he left home
with his boys he instructed his wife about Mata-
kit.
" 'Be as good to him as you can,' Vassell or-
dered. 'But if he should come to his end before
I return, then be careful to bury him deeper
than jackals or hyenas dig. Bury him care-
fully by' — no matter where; Vassell showed
Tante Anna precisely the place.
"The woman wept and fell on her husband's
neck, and cried: 'Farewell, and fight well; and
God bring you and the boys back to me, Vas-
sell, my old heart. You need have no fear but
I will carefully bury the Kaffir !'
"Gentlemen!" We all sprang up at the
change in the old voice. ft Gentlemen — you are
THE SWARTZ DIAMOND 281
my prisoners." The burgher rose up, very hard
of face.
Deschamps drew his pistol. I thrust mine
almost into the burgher's face. But he spoke
firmly :
"What! Shoot your prisoner, with his com-
mando sin-rounding you. Fifty Mausers are
levelled on you. Pooh! No! It would be
the end of you all. Lieutenant, your horses
are seized. Your vedettes are prisoners.
They were knocked off their saddles long ago,
when you heard nothing but the horses stamp-
ing. There was a Boer among them then. He
provoked that stamping. It was the signal to
strike down your vedettes. Fifty burghers are
listening to my voice now. Here, men !" And
at the word the Boer surprise came on. "Oom
Emanuel! Oh, Oom Emanuel!" was the cry.
"I truly grieve for you, gentlemen," said the
old burgher ten minutes later. "You were such
good listeners — you had ears for nothing but
my story. And because of that I leave you
food for a whole day. It will be sufficient, if
you march well on foot, to take you to my old
friend General Pole. I beg you to give him
my compliments. But he will not be in good
humour to-morrow. Every one of his patrols
282 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
within twenty miles has been captured to-night,
unless something has gone wrong with De Wet,
which is unlikely. Do not be cast down, lieu-
tenant. You were not to blame. Your ears
were not trained to the veldt. Good-bye. I
invite you to visit me, lieutenant, after this war
ends, at my Swartzdorp farm. Then I will tell
you the rest of the diamond story."
"But that is not fair, sir," said Deschamps,
whimsically. "I have interest in de story, and
I want to know how she end."
"It has no end yet." The old burgher smiled
broadly. "I was on my way to end it when
you stopped me. I hoped to get through more
easily without my burghers' aid, but I told
them to follow if they saw me stopped. You
missed us in searching the spruit this morning.
"I have really private business at Swartz-
dorp. Word was brought to me three days ago
that Tante Anna dutifully buried Matakit
months ago. Vassell was the Kaffir's life; I
will be his resurrection. A great diamond of
the first water is very salable, and the treasury
of the republic is running low."
"But it may not be a diamond of the first
water," said I.
"It must be," said the patriarch. "Anything
less would be too shabby a mercy to Vassell."
BOSS OF THE WORLD
ABOUT one-tenth of the people in Boston are
British Canadians, mostly from the Maritime
Provinces, an acquisitive prudent folk who see
naught to be gained by correcting casual ac-
quaintances who mistake them for down-east
Yankees. Often, indeed, they are descendants
of Hezekiahs 'and Priscillas who, having been
Royalists during the War of Independence,
found subsequent emigration to a British
country incumbent on their Puritan con-
sciences. These Americans, returned to the
ancestral New England after four or five gen-
erations of absence, commonly find Boston
ways surprisingly congenial, though they con-
tinue to cherish pride in British origin, and a
decent warmth of regard for fellow natives of
the Maritime Provinces. Hence a known Can-
adian is frequently addressed by an unsus-
pected one with, "I am from Canada, too."
Having learned this from ten years' experience,
I was little surprised when old Adam Bemis,
meeting me on the corner of Tremont and
Boylston Streets, in May, 1915, stopped and
283
284 OLD MAN SAVABIN STORIES
stealthily whispered, "I am from Yarmouth,
Nova Scotia."
"Really! I have always taken you for one of
the prevalent minority, a man from the State of
Maine."
"Most folks do. It doesn't vex me any
more. But I've wanted to tell you any time
the last ten years."
"Then, why didn't you?"
"It's not my way to hurry. You will under-
stand that well when I explain. I'm needing
friendly advice."
He had ever worn the air of preoccupation
during our twelve years' acquaintance, but that
seemed proper to an inventor burdened with the
task of devising and selecting novelties for the
Annual Announcement by which Miss Min-
nely's Prize Package Department furthers the
popularity of her famous Family Blessing.
The happy possessor of five new subscription
certificates, on remitting them to Adam's De-
partment, receives by mail, prepaid, Number
1 Prize Package. Number 2 falls to the col-
lector of ten such certificates; and so on, in
gradations of Miss Minnely's shrewd benefi-
cence. The magnifico of one thousand certifi-
cates obtains choice between a gasoline auto-
BOSS OF THE WORLD 285
buggy and a New England farm. To be ever
adding to or choosing from the world's chang-
ing assortment of moral mechanical toys, cellu-
loid table ornaments, reversible albums,
watches warranted gold filled, books combining
thrill with edification, and more or less similar
"premiums" to no calculable end, might well
account for Old Adam's aspect, at once solemn
and unsettled.
"What is your trouble?" I enquired.
"The Odistor. My greatest discovery!" he
whispered.
"Indeed! For your Department?"
"We will see about that. It is something
mighty wonderful — I don't know but I should
say almighty."
"Goodness! What is its nature?"
"I won't say — not here. You couldn't believe
me without seeing it work — I wouldn't have
believed it myself on anybody's word. I will
bring it on to your lodgings — that's a good
place for the exhibition. No — I won't even try
to explain here — we might be overheard." He
glanced up and down Tremont Street, then
across — "Sh — there she is herself!" He
dodged into a drug store opposite the Tou-
raine.
286 OLD MAN SAVABIN STORIES
Miss Mehitable Minnely, sole proprietor of
The Family Blessing, was moving imposingly
from the Boylston Street front of the hotel
toward her auto-brougham. At the top step
she halted and turned her cordial, broad, dom-
inant countenance in both directions as if to
beam on streets crowded with potential prize-
package takers. She then spoke the permit-
ting word to two uniformed deferential atten-
dants, who proceeded to stay her carefully by
the elbows, in her descent of the stone steps.
Foot passengers massed quickly on both sides
of her course, watching her large, slow progress
respectfully. When the porters had conveyed
her across the pavement, and with deferential,
persistent boosting made of her an ample la-
ding for the "auto," the chauffeur touched his
wide-peaked cap, and slowly rolled her away
towards Brimstone Corner en route to the
Blessing Building. Adam came out of the
drug store looking relieved.
"She doesn't like to see any of us on the
street, office hours," he explained with lips
close to my ear. "Not that I ought to care
one mite." He smiled somewhat defiantly and
added, "To see me dodging the old lady's eye
you'd never guess I'm her boss. But I am."
BOSS OF THE WORLD 287
He eyed my wonder exultantly and repeated,
"It's so. She doesnt know it. Nobody knows,
except me. But I am her boss. Just whenever
I please."
On my continued aspect of perturbation he
remarked, coolly: — "Naturally you think my
head is on wrong. But you will know better
this evening. I'm the World's boss whenever
I choose to take the responsibility. If I don't
choose, she goes on being my boss, and, of
course, I'll want to hold down my job. Well,
good-day for the present. Or, say — I forgot —
will it suit you if I come about half -past-five ?
I can't get there much earlier. She's not too
well pleased if any of us leave before Park
Street clock strikes five."
"Very well, Mr. Bemis — half past. I shall
expect you."
"Expect a surprise, too."
He walked circumspectly across Boylston
Street through the contrary processions of
vehicles, to the edging pavement of the Com-
mon, on his way toward the new Old State
House, and Miss Minnely's no less immense
Family Blessing Building.
It was precisely twenty-six minutes past five
when Adam entered my private office in the
288 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
rear room of the ground floor of a sky-scraper
which overlooks that reach of Charles River
lying between the Union Boat Club House and
the long, puritanic, impressive simplicity of
Harvard Bridge. He did not greet me, being
preoccupied with the brown paper-covered
package under his left arm. With a certain
eagerness in his manner, he placed this not
heavy burden on the floor, so that it was hidden
by the broad table-desk at which I sat. He
stooped. I could hear him carefully untie the
string and open the clattering paper.
He then placed on the green baize desk-cover
a bulbous object of some heavy metal resem-
bling burnished steel. It was not unlike a large
white Bermuda onion with a protuberant stem
or nozzle one inch long, half-an-inch in diam-
eter, and covered by a metal cap. Obviously,
the bulb was of two equal parts, screwed to-
gether on a plane at right angles to the perpen-
dicular nozzle. An inch of the upper edge of
the lower or basic part was graduated finely as
a vernier scale. The whole lower edge of the
upper half was divided, apparently into three
hundred and sixty degrees, as is the horizontal
circle of a theodolite. The parts were fitted
with a clamp and tangent screw, by which the
BOSS OF THE WORLD 289
vernier could be moved with minutest precision
along the graduated circle.
"I was four years experimenting before I
found out how to confine it," said Adam.
"What ? A high explosive !"
"No — nothing to be nervous about. But
what it is I can't exactly say."
"A scientific mystery, eh?"
"It might be called so, seeing as I don't my-
self know the real nature of the force any more
than electricians know what electricity is.
They understand how to generate and employ
it, that's all. Did you ever see a whirlwind
start?"
"No."
"Think again. Not even a little one?"
"Of course I have often seen little whirlwinds
on the street carrying up dust and scraps of
paper, sometimes dropping them instantly,
sometimes whirling them away."
"On calm days?"
"Really I can't remember. But I think not.
It doesn't stand to reason."
"That's where you are mistaken. It is in
the strongest kind of sunshine on dead calm
days that those little whirlwinds do start. What
do you suppose starts them?"
290 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"I never gave it a thought."
"Few do. I've given it years of close think-
ing. You have read of ships on tropic seas in
dead calm having top-sails torn to rags by
whirlwinds starting 'way up there, deck and
sea quiet as this room?"
"I've read of that. But I don't believe all the
wonderful items I read in the papers."
"There are more wonders than the papers
print. I saw that happen twice in the Indian
Ocean, when I was a young man. I have been
studying more or less on it ever since. Now I
will show you the remainder of my Odistor. I
call it that because folks when I was young used
to talk of a mysterious Odic force."
To the desk he lifted a black leather grip-
sack, as narrow, as low, and about twice as long
as one of those in which surgeons carry their im-
plements. From this he extracted a simple-
seeming apparatus which I still suppose to have
been of the nature of an electric machine. Ex-
ternally it resembled a rectangular umbrella
box of metal similar to that of the bulb. It was
about four feet in length and four inches in
height and in breadth. That end which he
placed nearest the window was grooved to re-
ceive one-half the bulb accurately. Clamped
BOSS OF THE WORLD 291
longitudinally to the top of the box was a
copper tube half-an-inch in exterior diameter,
and closed, except for a pinhole sight, at the end
farthest from the window. The other, or open
end, was divided evenly by a perpendicular fila-
ment apparently of platinum.
Adam placed this sighted box on the green
baize, its longer axis pointing across the Charles
River to Cambridge, through the window. He
carefully propped up the wire-net sash. Stoop-
ing at the desk he looked through the pin-hole
sight and shifted the box to his satisfaction.
"Squint along the line of sight," he said, giv-
ing place to me. I stooped and complied.
"You see Memorial Hall tower right in the
line?"
"Precisely."
"But what is nearest on the Cambridge
shore?"
"The stone revetment wall."
"I mean next beyond that."
"The long shed with the big sign 'Builders'
in black letters."
"All right. Sit here and watch that shed.
No matter if it blows away. They were going
to tear it down anyway." He placed my chair
directly behind the sighted tube.
292 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
With an access of eagerness in his counte-
nance, and something of tremor apparent in his
clutching fingers, he lifted the bulb, unscrewed
its metal cap and worked the tangent screw
while watching the vernier intently. He was
evidently screwing the basal half closer to the
nozzle-bearing upper portion.
From a minute orifice in the nozzle or stem
something exuded that appeared first as a tiny,
shimmering, sunbright, revolving globule. At
that instant he placed the bulb on its base in its
niche or groove at the outer or window end of
the sighted box. Thus the strange revolving
globule was rising directly in the line of sight.
"Watch that shed," Adam ordered hoarsely.
I could not wholly take my eyes off the sin-
gular sphere, which resembled nothing that I
have elsewhere seen so much as a focus of sun
rays from a burning glass. But this intensely
bright spot or mass — for it appeared to have
substance even as the incandescent carbon of
an Edison lamp seems to possess substance
exterior to the carbon — rose expanding in an
increasing spiral within an iridescent translu-
cent film that clung by a tough stem to the
orifice of the nozzle, somewhat as a soap-bubble
clings to the pipe whence it is blown. Yet this
BOSS OF THE WORLD 293
brilliant, this enlarging, this magic globule was
plainly whirling on its perpendicular axis as a
waterspout does, and that with speed terrific.
The mere friction of its enclosing film on the
air stirred such wind in the room as might come
from an eighteen-inch electric fan. In shape the
infernal thing rapidly became an inverted cone
with spiral convolutions. It hummed like a dis-
tant, idly-running circular saw, a great top, or
the far-off, mysterious forewarning of a ty-
phoon.
"Now!" Adam touched a button on the top
of the metal box.
The gleaming, whirling, humming, prismatic
spiral was then about eighteen inches high. It
vanished without sound or spark, as if the film
had been totally destroyed 'and the contained
incandescence quenched on liberation. For one
instant I experienced a sense of suffocation, as
if all the air had been drawn out of the room.
The inner shutters clashed, the holland sun-
shade clattered, the door behind me snicked
open, air from the corridor rushed in.
"See the river!" Adam was exultant, but
not too excited to replace the metal cap on the
nozzle.
Certainly the Charles River was traversed by
294 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
a gust that raised white caps instantly. A
bulk-headed sailing-dory, owned by a Union
Boat Clubman whom I knew, lay over so far
that her sail was submerged, and her centre-
board came completely out of water. Only the
head and clutching forearms of the two men
aboard her could be seen. Afterward they told
me they had been quite surprised by the squall.
Beyond the Cambridge revetment wall a wide
cloud of dust sprang up, hiding the "Builders"
shed.
When this structure reappeared Adam
gasped, then stood breathless, his countenance
expressive of surprise.
He looked down at the Odistor, pondering,
left hand fingers pressing his throbbing temple.
Lifting the bulb he inspected the vernier, laid
it down again, put on his spectacles and once
more peered intently at the graduated scale.
"I see," he said, "I was the least thing too
much afraid of doing damage in Cambridge
back of the shed. But you saw the wind?"
"Certainly I saw wind."
"You know how it started?"
"I don't know what to think. It was very
strange. What is the stuff?"
"Tell me what starts the whirlwind or the
BOSS OF THE WORLD 295
cyclone, and I can tell you that. All I'm sure
of is that I can originate the force, control it,
and release it in any strength I choose. Do
you remember the chap called JEolus we used
to read about in the Latin book at school, he
that bagged up the winds long ago? I guess
there was truth at the back of that fable. He
found out the secret before me, and he used it
to some extent. It died with him, and they
made a god out of his memory — they had some
right to be grateful that he spared them. It
must go to the grave with me — so far as I've
reasoned on the situation. But that's all right.
What's worrying me is the question — Shall I
make any use of it?"
"I can see no use for it."
"What ! Think again. It is the Irresistible
Force. There is no withstanding it. I can
start a stronger hurricane than ever yet blew.
You remember what happened to that Ha-
waiian Island in the tornado last year? That
was a trifle to what I can do. It is only a
matter of confining a larger quantity in a
stronger receiver and giving it a swifter send
off with a more powerful battery. I can widen
the track and lengthen the course to any ex-
tent"
296 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"Suppose you can. Still it is only a de-
stroyer. What's the good of it?"
"What's the good of a Krupp gun. Or a
shell. Or a bullet?"
"They are saleable."
He looked keenly at me for some seconds.
"Do you see that far, or do you only not see
how it could be used as a weapon? That's it,
eh! Well, I'll tell you. There's England
spending more'n ten million dollars a day in
the war. Suppose I go to Lord Kitchener.
He's a practical, quick man — in half an hour
he sees what I can do. 'What will you give,'
I ask him, 'to have the Crown Prince 'and the
rest of them Prussians blown clear away?'
'What is your price?' he inquires. 'Ten mil-
lion pounds would be cheap,' I reply. 'Take
five,' he says, 'we are not made of money.'
'Well, seeing it's you,' I tell him."
"It is a considerable discount, Adam. But
then you are a British subject."
"Yes — kind of. But the conversation was
imaginary. Discount or no discount, I feel no
special call to blow away whole armies of Ger-
mans. If I could set the Odistor on the Kaiser,
and the Crown Prince, and a dozen or so more
of the Prussian gang, I'd do it, of course. But
BOSS OF THE WORLD 297
how could I find just where they were? Blow-
ing away whole armies of men don't seem right
to me."
"But you needn't do that yourself. Sell your
secret outright to the British Government."
Adam stared as one truly astonished.
"Now what you think you're talking about?"
he remonstrated. "Can't you see farther than
that? Suppose I sell the secret to Kitchener.
Suppose he clears out all the Germans with it.
What next? Why, Ireland! Kitchener is a
Jingo Imperialist, which I never was and never
will be. I've heard of Jingoes saying time and
again that England's interests would be suited
if Ireland was ten feet under water. Or sup-
pose he only blows the Irish out of Connaught,
just to show the others they'd better cut out the
Sinn Finn. What then? First place, I like
the Irish. My wife's Irish. Next, consider all
the world. Suppose England has got the irre-
sistible weapon. There's no opposing it. Sup-
pose France was to try, some time after this
war is over. Away go her cities, farms, vine-
yards, people, higher than Gilroy's kite. What
next ? All the rest of the world then know they
must do what the English say — Germans, Ital-
ians, Russians, Yankees, Canadians. Now I'm
298 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
a cosmopolitan, I am. All kind of folk look
good to me."
"But England ruling the world means uni-
versal peace," I said enthusiastically. "Free
trade, equal rights, all the grand altruistic
English ideals established forever and ever!
Adam, let England have it! You'll be re-
membered as the greatest benefactor of hu-
manity. A Bemis statue in Trafalgar Square,
London ! Sure ! Think of that glory, Adam."
"For putting the English on top," he replied
dryly. "I can't seem to want to. Not but
what the English are all right. But my kind of
Maritime Province Canadians are considerably
more American than English, though they
never rightly know it till they've lived here and
in the old country. We're at home with
Yankee ways and Yankee notions. In Eng-
land we're only colonials. Not but what the
war may change that a bit."
"Take your secret to Washington then.
President Wilson will see that you get all that
you can reasonably ask for it."
"Sure — but while the pro-German microbe
is active in Washington, I will not offer the
thing there. Yet my first notion was to let the
United States have it — on conditions."
BOSS OF THE WORLD 299
"What conditions?"
"Well, I'd bargain they must leave Canada
alone. Woodrow would boss the rest of the
world, I was thinking, just the way I'll do it
myself if ever I do make up my mind. No
bossing — everybody free and equal and indus-
trious— no aristocracy, except just enough to
laugh at — no domineering. But I ain't so
pleased with Woodrow as I was when he
started presidenting. He aint set the Filipinos
free yet. And he knowing how bad they was
treated by this Republic. Why, the worst grab
ever England made wasn't a circumstance to
Yankees allying with Aguinaldo, and then
seizing his country."
"To what government will you sell?" I in-
quired patiently.
"Well, now, if I was going to sell to any gov-
ernment it would be Sir Wilfrid Laurier's.
But he's got no government, now. Onta'rio
folks beat him last election, for being too rea-
sonable. If ever there was the makings of a
good benevolent despot, Laurier's the man.
I used to be saying to myself while I was per-
fecting the Odistor, says I inwardly, 'I'll give it
to Laurier.5 Of course, I was calculating he'd
use it first thing to annex the United States
300 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
to Canada. That would be good for both
countries — if Laurier was on top. He'd give
this Republic Responsible Government, stop
letting it be run by hole-and-corner committees
and trusts and billionaires, and, first of all, he'd
establish Free Trade all over the continent.
That would be good for Nova Scotia apple-
growers, and, mind you, I'd like to do some-
thing for my native Province before I die.
Statue in Trafalgar Square, says you. Think
of a statue in Halifax — erected to me!
'ADAM BEMIS, BENEFACTOR OF
NOVA SCOTIA!' And a big apple-tree
kind of surrounding my figure with blessings !
Sounds kind of good, eh. Why don't I give it
to Laurier? Well he's getting old. He aint
any too strong in health, either. He mightn't
live long enough to get things running right.
And he'd be sure to tell his colleagues how the
Odistor is worked — he's such a strong party
man. That's the only fault he's got. Well,
now, think what happens after he drops out.
Why, some ordinary cuss of his Party takes
over the Bossdom of the world. Now, all ordi-
nary Canadian politicians are hungry to be
knighted, or baroneted. Laurier' s successor,
likely enough, would give away the Odistor to
BOSS OF THE WORLD 301
England, in return for a handle to his name.
And once England got the Odistor — why, you
know what I told you before."
"Well, what Government will you sell
to?"
"To none. Germany's out of the question,
of course. France, Russia, Italy, Japan —
they're all unfitter than England, Canada or
the States. Once I planned to raise up the
people that are down — the Poles, Irish, Ar-
menians, Filipinos, and so on. Then I got to
fancying the Irish with power to blow every-
thing above rock in England out to sea. Would
they be satisfied with moving the Imperial
Parliament to College Green, giving England
a Viceroy and local councils, putting a Catholic
King in George's shoes and fixing the corona-
tion oath to abjuring Protestant errors? I
can't seem to think they'd be so mild. WTiat
would the Poles do to the Prussians, Austrians,
and Russians ; or the Armenians to the Turks,
if I gave them the Odistor? No — I won't take
such risks. If I gave the thing to one Nation
the only fair deal would be to give it to all, big
and little alike, making the smallest as powerful
as the biggest, everyone with power to blow all
the others off the footstool. What then?
302 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Would mutual fear make them live peaceably ?
I'm feared not. Probably every one would be
so afraid of every other that each would be for
getting its Odistors to work first. There'd be
cyclones jamming into cyclones all over out-
doors, a teetotal destruction of crops, and
everything and everybody blown clean away at
once. Wonder where they'd light ?"
His query, did not divert me from the main
matter. "If you won't sell, how can you get
any money out of it?" I asked.
"No difficulty getting money out of it. Here
I am able to blow everything away — say Berlin
and thereabouts for a starter, just to show how
the thing works. Then all hands would know I
could blow away all Europe — except maybe
the Alps. I don't know exactly how strong
the Odistor could blow. Wouldn't all the Gov-
ernments unite to p'ay me not to do it. See?
All the money John Rockefeller ever handled
wouldn't pay five minutes' interest on what I
ought to get for just not doing it. No harm in
not hurting anybody — see? And me working
for Miss Minnely for forty-five dollars a
week!"
"Resign, Adam," I said earnestly, for the
financial prospect was dazzling. "Take me in
BOSS OF THE WORLD 303
as junior partner. Let us get at this thing to-
gether."
"What? Blackmailing the nations! And
you a professional Liberal like myself! No!
It wouldn't be straight. I can't have a partner
— you'll see that before I get through. But
now I suppose that you will admit that I could
get any amount of money out of the thing?"
"You have thought it all out wonderfully,
Adam."
"Wish I could stop thinking about it. I'm
only taking you gradually over the field — not
telling my conclusions yet — but only some of
my thoughts by the way. In fact it's years
since I gave up the notion of opening the secret
to any nation, or to all nations. For one thing
I couldn't get into any nation's possession if I
wanted to. Suppose, for instance, I offered it
to the Washington Administration. Naturally
the President orders experts to report on it —
say six army engineers. I show them how.
What happens ? Why, those six men are bosses
of the Administration, the nation and all the
world. They can't but see that right away if
they've got any gumption. Will they abstain
from using the power? Scarcely. Will they
stick together and boss? They won't, because
304 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
they can't. It is not in human nature. Com-
mon sense, common logic, would compel each
one to try to get his private Odistor going first,
for fear each of the others might be for blowing
him and the other four away in order to boss
alone. Fact is, the moment I showed the pro-
cess to any other man — and this is why I can't
take you in as partner — I'd have to blow him
straight 'away out beyond Cape Cod, for fear
he would send me flying soon as he saw uni-
versal Bossdom in his hands."
"That seems inevitable," I admitted.
"Certainly. I can't risk the human race
under any Boss except myself — or somebody
that I am sure means 'as well as I do."
"Our political principles are in many re-
spects the same," I suggested, hopefully.
"Will you — will any man except me — would
even Laurier stay Liberal if he had absolute
power? What would you do with the Odistor
anyway?"
"Get a fortune out of it."
"How?"
"Well, we might try this scheme — detain
ocean liners in port until the Companies agreed
to pay what the traffic will bear."
"Gosh — you think I've got the conscience of
BOSS OF THE WORLD 305
a Railway Corporation? No, sir! But what
use in prolonging this part of our talk? I have
thought of a thousand ways of using the thing
on a large scale, but they are all out of the ques-
tion, for one good and sufficient reason — folks
would lock me up or kill me if I once convinced
'em of the power I possess. I couldn't blame
them, they must do it to feel safe themselves.
The only sure way for me to get big money out
of it safely would be by retiring to a lonely sea
island and advertising what I intended to do on
a specified day — blow away some forest on the
mainland, say, or send a blast straight overland
to the Rockies and clear them of snow in a
path fifty miles wide. Of course, folks would
laugh at the advertisement — to say nothing of
the expense of inserting it — and to convince
them I'd have to do it. After that I might call
on the civilised governments to send me all the
gold, diamonds, and fine things I could think
of. But what good would fine things do me?
I should be afraid to let any ship land its cargo,
or any other human being come on the island.
I couldn't even have a cook, for fear she might
be bribed to poison me or bust the Odistor — and
I've got no fancy to do my own cooking. What
good to Boss the World at that price? The
306 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
Kaiser himself wouldn't pay it. Universally
feared as he is already hated — but not bound
to live alone. For a while I was thinking to se-
clude myself that way in self-sacrifice to the
general good. I thought of issuing an order to
all governments to stop fighting, stop govern-
ing and just let real freedom be established—
the brotherhood of man, share and share alike,
equal wages all round, same kind of houses and
grub and clothes, perfect democracy ! But sup-
pose the Governments didn't obey? Politicians
are smart — they'd soon see I dursn't leave my
island to go travelling and inspecting what was
going on all over. I couldn't receive deputa-
tions coming to me for redress of grievances,
for fear they might be coming to rid the world
of its benevolent despot. Shrewd folks ashore
would soon catch on to my fix — me there all
alone, busy keeping ten or a dozen Odistors
blowing gales off shore for fifty miles or so to
keep people out of any kind of striking dis-
tance, and everlastingly sending hurricanes
upward to clear the sky of Zeppelins and aero-
planes that might be sent to drop nitro-glycer-
ine on me. Next thing some speculator
would be pretending to be my sole agent, and
ordering the world to fetch him the wealth.
BOSS OF THE WORLD 307
How could I know, any more than God seems
to, what things were done in my name?"
"Employ Marconi," I suggested;, "have him
send you aerial news of what's going on every-
where. Then you could threaten wrong-doers
everywhere with the Odistor.
"Marconi is a good man, mebby, but think
of the temptation to him. How could I be sure
he was giving me facts. He could stuff me with
good reports, and all the time be bossing the
world himself, forcing the nations to give up
to him by the threat that I'd back him and blow
the disobedient to Kingdom Come. Besides,
I don't know how to operate Marconi's instru-
ments, and, if I did, all my time would be taken
up receiving his reports. No, sir. There is no
honest, safe, comfortable way for me to get rich
out of the Odistor. I have known that for a
considerable time."
"Then, why did you wish to consult me?"
"Well, first place, I wanted some friend to
know what kind of a self-denying ordinance
I'm living under. To be comprehended by at
least one person is a human need. Besides that,
I want your opinion on a point of conscience.
Is the Odistor mine?"
"Yours? Isn't it your exclusive discovery?"
308 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"But isn't it Miss Minnely's property? I
experimented in her time."
"During office hours?"
"Mostly. And did all the construction in
her workshop with her materials. She sup-
posed I was tinkering up a new attraction for
the Annual Announcement. Isn't it hers by
rights? She's been paying me forty-five dollars
a week right along. When she hired me she
told me she expected exclusive devotion to the
interests of the Family Blessing. And I
agreed. Seems I'm bound in honour to give it
up to her."
"For nothing?"
"Well, she's dead set against raising wages.
But I was thinking she might boost me up to
fifty a week."
"That seems little for making her Boss of the
World."
"Oh, Miss Minnely wouldn't go in for that.
A man would. A woman is too conservative.
Miss Minnely's one notion is the Blessing.
It's not money she is after, but doing good.
She's sure the way to improve the world is to
get the Blessing regularly into every family. I
don't know but she's right too. It's harmless,
anyway."
BOSS OF THE WORLD 309
I could not but regard Adam's conscience
as too tender. Yet it was pathetic to see this
old man, potentially master of mankind (if he
were not mistaking the Odistor's powers) , feel-
ing morally so bound by the ethics of the trusty
employee. I had perused thousands of editor-
ials designed to imbue the proletariat with pre-
cisely Adam's idea of duty to Capital. How
to advise him was a serious problem.
"What would Miss Minnely do with it?" I
inquired, to gain time.
"She would put it on the list of attractions in
the Prize Package Department."
"Good heavens! And place absolute power
in the hands of subscribers to the Blessing!
Anarchy would ensue! They would all set
about bossing the world."
"Not they," said Adam. "She would send
out Odistors gauged to only certain specified
strengths. For five subscription certificates
the subscriber would get a breeze to dry clothes
or ventilate cellars. Prize Odistor number two
might clear away snow; number three might
run the family windmill. Clubs of fifty new
subscribers could win a machine that would
clear fog away from the bay or the river, morn-
ings. Different strengths for different pre-
310 OLD MAN SAVABIN STORIES
miums. See? It would prove a first-class at-
traction for the Announcement."
"Adam," I remonstrated, for the financial
prospect was too alluring, "you are not re-
quired to give this thing to Miss Minnely. Re-
sign. Remit a million as conscience money to
her. Let us go into the manufacture together.
You gauge the Odistors. I will run the busi-
ness end of the concern."
"No! Miss Minnely has the first right. If
anybody gets it she must. What bothers me
most is this — will she bounce me if I tell her?"
"Bounce you? Why?"
"Think me crazy. I tell you she is conser-
vative. And she is ready to throw me out —
thinks I'm a back number. I can hardly blame
her. Fact is, I have given so much time and
thought to the Odistor of late years that I
haven't found or invented half enough attrac-
tions for the Announcement. Last week she
gave me an assistant — a Pusher. That means
she is intending him to supersede me about
two years from now. Yet I could invent a man
with twice his brains in half the time. Some-
times I am tempted to put the Odistor on the
small job of blowing him out into Massa-
chusetts B'ay. But he is not to blame for being
BOSS OF THE WORLD 311
as God made him. Then, again, I think how
I could down him by simply showing the thing
to Miss Minnely. But the cold fit comes again
—what if she thinks me crazy? I'd lose my
forty-five dollars a week and might be driven
to Bossing the World. It's hard for old
men to get new jobs in Boston. They draw the
dead-line at fifty. Just when a man's got
some experience they put a boy of twenty-six
on top of him. On the other hand, suppose
she does consider it, and does see the whole
meaning of it. First thing she might do with
her Odistor would be to put a cyclone whirling
me." He sighed heavily. "Fact is I've got
myself into a kind of hole. What do you
advise?"
"Bury the Odistor. Forget it, Adam.
Then, with your mind free, you can invent new
things for the Announcement. I see no other
escape from your predicament."
"I expected you to advise that in the end,"
said Adam, and began repacking his singular
mechanism. "Bury it I will. But how can I
forget it? May be it has exhausted my inven-
tive powers. What then? I'm bounced. It's
tough to have to begin all over again at sixty-
three, and me Boss of the World if I could only
312 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
bring myself to boss. If I do get bounced and
do get vexed, m'aybe I'll unbury it and show
Miss Minnely what it can do. Well, good
evening, and thank you for your interest and
advice."
He departed with the old, solemn unsettled
look on his honest Nova Scotian countenance.
Since that day I have frequently seen Adam,
but he gives me no recognition. He goes about
with eyes on the ground, probably studying the
complicated and frightful situation of a World
Power animated by liberalism and dominated
by conscience. Some in the Blessing office tell
me that Miss Minnely's disapproving eye is
often on her old employee. They say she will
soon lift the Pusher over Adam's white head.
What will he do then? I remember with
some trepidation the vague threat with which
he left me. At night, when a high gale happens
to be blowing, I listen in wild surmise that
Adam was bounced yesterday, and that the
slates, bricks and beams of the Family Bless-
ing Building are hurtling about the suburbs
as if in signal that he has liberated a large
specimen of the mysterious globule and em-
barked, of necessity, on the woeful business of
bossing the world.
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT
GEORGE RENWICK substituted "limb" for
"leg," "intoxicated" for "drunk," and "under-
garment" for "shirt," in "The Converted Ring-
master," a short-story-of -commerce, which he
was editing for "The Family Blessing."
When he should have eliminated all indecorum
it would go to Miss Minnely, who would "ele-
vate the emotional interest." She was sole
owner of "The Blessing," active director of
each of its multifarious departments. Few
starry names rivalled hers in the galaxy of
American character-builders.
Unaware of limitations to her versatility,
Miss Minnely might have dictated all the liter-
ary contents of the magazine, but for her acute
perception that other gifted pens should be
enlisted. Hence many minor celebrities wor-
shipped her liberal cheques, whilst her more
extravagant ones induced British titled person-
ages to assuage the yearning of the American
Plain People for some contact with rank.
Renwick wrought his changes sardonically,
applying to each line a set of touchstones —
313
314 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
"Will it please Mothers?" "Lady school-
teachers?" "Ministers of the Gospel?" "Miss
Minnely's Taste?" He had not entirely con-
verted The Ringmaster when his door was
gently opened by the Chief Guide to the
Family Blessing Building.
Mr. Durley had grown grey under solemn
sense of responsibility for impressions which
visitors might receive. With him now ap-
peared an unusually numerous party of the
usual mothers, spinsters, aged good men, and
anxious children who keep watch and ward over
"The Blessing's" pages, in devotion to Miss
Minnely's standing editorial request that "sub-
scribers will faithfully assist the Editors with
advice, encouragement, or reproof." The
Mature, with true American gentleness, let the
Young assemble nearest the open door. All
necks craned toward Ren wick. Because Mr.
Durley's discourse to so extensive a party was
unusually loud, Renwick heard, for the first
time, what the Chief Guide was accustomed to
murmur at his threshold: "De-ar friends, the
gentleman we now have the satisfaction of be-
holding engaged in a sitting posture at his edi-
torial duties, is Mr. George Hamilton Renwick,
an American in every ."
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 315
"He looks like he might be English," ob-
served a matron.
Mr. Durley took a steady look at Renwick:
"He is some red complected, Lady, but I guess
it's only he is used to out of doors." He re-
sumed his customary drone: — "Mr. Renwick,
besides he is American in every fibre of his
being, is a first rate general purpose editor,
and also a noted authority on yachting, boat-
ing, canoeing, rowing, swimming, and every
kind of water amusements of a kind calculated
to build up character in subscribers. Mr.
George Hamilton Renwick's engagement by
'The Family Blessing' exclusively is a recent
instance of many evidences that Miss Minnely,
the Sole Proprietress, spares no expense in
securing talented men of genius who are like-
wise authorities on every kind of specialty in-
teresting, instructive, and improving to first-
class respectable American families. Ladies
and gentlemen, and de-ar children, girls, and
youths, we will now pass on to Room Number
Sixteen, and behold Mr. Caliphas C. Cummins,
the celebrated author and authority on Oriental
and Scriptural countries. Mr. Cummins is spe-
cially noted as the author of 'Bijah's Bicycle in
Babylonia,' 'A Girl Genius at Galilee,' and
316 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
many first-class serials published exclusively in
'The Family Blessing.' He may-
Mr. Durley softly closed Renwick' s door.
The Improving Editor, now secluded, stared
wrathfully for some moments. Then he
laughed, seized paper; and wrote in capitals :—
"When the editor in this compartment is to be ex-
hibited, please notify him by knocking on this door
before opening it. He will then rise from his sitting
posture, come forward for inspection, and turn slowly
round three times, if a mother, a school teacher, or a
minister of the Gospel be among the visiting sub-
scribers."
Renwick strode to his door. While pinning
the placard on its outside he overheard the con-
cluding remarks of Mr. Durley on Mr. Cum-
mins, whose room was next in the long corridor:
"Likewise talented editor of the Etiquette De-
partment and the Puzzle Department. Mr.
Cummins, Sir, seven lady teachers from the
State of Maine are now honouring us in this
party."
Renwick stood charmed to listen. He heard
the noted author clack forward to shake hands
all round, meantime explaining in thin, high,
affable volubility: "My de-ar friends, you have
the good fortune to behold me in the very act
of composing my new serial of ten Chapters,
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 317
for 'The Blessing' exclusively, entitled 'Jehu
and Jerusha in Jerusalem,' being the expe-
riences of a strenuous New England brother
and sister in the Holy Land, where our Lord
innogerated the Christian religion, now, sad to
say, under Mohammetan subjection. In this
tale I am incorporating largely truthful inci-
dents of my own and blessed wife's last visit to
the Holy Places where—
Renwick slammed his door. He flung his
pen in a transport of derision. Rebounding
from his desk, it flew through an open window,
perhaps to fall on some visitor to "The Bless-
ing's" lawn. He hastened to look down. No-
body was on gravel path or bench within pos-
sible reach of the missile. Renwick, relieved,
mused anew on the singularities of the scene.
The vast "Blessing" Building stands amid a
city block devoted largely to shaven turf, flower
beds, grassed mounds, and gravel paths. It is
approached from the street by a broad walk
which bifurcates at thirty yards from the
"Richardson" entrance, to surround a turfed
truncated cone, from which rises a gigantic,
severely draped, female figure. It is that
bronze of Beneficence which, in the words of the
famous New England sculptress, Miss Angela
318 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
C. Amory Pue, "closely features Miss Martha
Minnely in her grand early womanhood." In
the extensive arms of the Beneficence a bronze
volume so slants that spectators may read on its
back, in gilt letters, "THE FAMILY BLESS-
ING." Prettily pranked out in dwarf marginal
plants on the turfy cone these words are pyr-
amided: "LovE. HEAVEN. BENEFICENCE.
THE LATEST FASHIONS. MY COUNTRY, 'TIS
or THEE."
Not far from the statue slopes a great
grassed mound which displays still more con-
spicuously in "everlastings," "THE FAMILY
BLESSING. CIRCULATION 1915, 1,976,709.
MONTHLY. COME UNTO ME ALL YE WEARY
AND HEAVILY LADEN. Two DOLLARS A
YEAR."
The scheme ever puzzled Renwick. Had
some demure humour thus addressed advertise-
ments as if to the eternal stars? Or did they
proceed from a pure simplicity of commercial
taste? From this perennial problem he was
diverted by sharp rapping at his door. Durley
again? But the visitor was Mr. Joram B.
Buntstir, veteran among the numerous editors
of "The Blessing," yet capable of jocularities.
He appeared perturbed.
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 319
"Renwick, you are rather fresh here, and I
feel so friendly to you that I'd hate to see you
get into trouble unwarned. Surely you can't
wish Miss Minnely to see that"
"What? Oh, the placard! That's for Dur-
ley. He must stop exhibiting me."
"Mr. Durley won't understand. Anyway,
he couldn't stop without instructions from Miss
Minnely. He will take the placard to her for
orders. You do not wish to hurt Miss Min-
nely's feelings, I am sure." Mr. Buntstir
closed the door behind him.
"Bah — Miss Minnely's feelings can't be so
tender as all that !"
"No, eh? Do you know her so thoroughly?"
"I don't know her at all. I've been here
three months without once seeing Miss Min-
nely. Is she real? Half the time I doubt her
existence."
"You get instructions from her regularly."
"I get typewritten notes, usually volumin-
ous, signed 'M. Minnely,' twice a week. But
the Business Manager, or Miss Heartly, may
dictate them, for all I know."
"Pshaw! Miss Minnely presides in seclu-
sion. Her private office has a street entrance.
She seldom visits the Departments in office
320 OLD MAN SAVABIN STORIES
hours. Few of her staff know her by sight.
She saves time by avoiding personal interviews.
But she keeps posted on everybody's work. I
hope you may not have to regret learning how
very real Miss Minnely can be. She took me
in hand, once, eight years ago. I have been
careful to incur no more discipline since — kind
as she was. If she sees your placard—
"Well, what?"
"Well, she can be very impressive. I fear
your offer to turn round before visitors may
bring you trouble."
"I am looking for trouble. I'm sick and
tired of this life of intellectual shame."
"Then quit!" snapped Buntstir, pierced.
"Be consistent. Get out. Sell your sneers at
a great established publication to some pam-
phlet periodical started by college boys for the
regeneration of Literature. Don't jeer what
you live by. That is where intellectual shame
should come in."
"You are right. A man should not gibe his
job. I must quit. The 'Blessing' is all right
for convinced devotees of the mawkish. But if
a man thinks sardonically of his daily work,
that damns the soul."
"It may be an effect of the soul trying to save
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 321
itself," said Buntstir, mollified. "Anyway,
Renwick, remember your trouble with 'The Re-
flex.' Avoid the name of a confirmed quitter.
Stay here till you can change to your profit.
Squealing won't do us any good. A little grain
of literary conscience ought not to make you
talk sour. It's cynical to satirize our bread
and butter — imprudent, too."
"That's right. I'll swear off, or clear out.
Lord, how I wish I could. My brain must rot
if I don't. 'The Blessing's' 'emotional'! Oh,
Buntstir, the stream of drivel! And to live by
concocting it for trustful subscribers. Talk of
the sin of paregoricking babies!"
"Babies take paregoric because they like it.
Pshaw, Renwick, you're absurdly sensitive.
Writing-men must live, somehow — usually by
wishy-washiness. Unpleasant work is the com-
mon lot of mankind. Where's your title to ex-
emption ? Really, you're lucky. Miss Minnely
perceives zest in your improvements of copy.
She says you are naturally gifted with 'The
Blessing's' taste."
"For Heaven's sake, Buntstir!"
"She did — Miss Heartly told me so. And
yet — if she sees that placard — no one can ever
guess what she may do in discipline. You can't
322 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
wish to be bounced, dear boy, with your family
to provide for. Come, you've blown off steam.
Take the placard off your door."
"All right. I will. But Miss Minnely can't
bounce me without a year's notice. That's
how I engaged."
"A year's notice to quit a life of intellectual
shame !"
"Well, it is one thing to jump out of the
window, and another to be bounced. I
wouldn't stand that."
Buntstir laughed. "I fancy I see you, you
sensitive Cuss, holding on, or jumping off or
doing anything contra to Miss Minnely's inten-
tion." He went to the door. "Hello, where's
the placard?" he cried, opening it.
"Gone!" Renwick sprang up.
"Gone, sure. No matter how. It is already
in Miss Minnely's hands. Well, I told you to
take it down twenty minutes ago."
"Wait, Buntstir. What is best to be done?"
"Hang on for developments — and get to
work."
Buntstir vanished as one hastens to avoid
infection.
II
Renwick resumed his editing of "The Con-
MISS MINNELYS MANAGEMENT 323
verted Ringmaster" with resolve to think on
nothing else. But, between his eyes and the
manuscript, came the woeful aspect of two
widows, his mother and his sister, as they had
looked six months earlier, when he threw up his
political editorship of "The Daily Reflex" in
disgust at its General Manager's sudden re-
versal of policy. His sister's baby toddled into
the vision. He had scarcely endured to watch
the child's uncertain steps during the weeks
while he wondered how to buy its next month's
modified milk. To "The Reflex" he could not
return, because he had publicly burned his
boats, with the desperate valour of virtue con-
scious that it may weaken if strained by need
for family food.
Out of that dangerous hole he had been lifted
by the Sole Proprietress of "The Family Bless-
ing." She praised his "public stand for prin-
ciple" in a note marked "strictly confidential,"
which tendered him a "position." He had
secretly laughed at the cautious, amiable offer,
even while her laudation gratified his self-im-
portance. Could work on "The Blessing" seem
otherwise than ridiculous for one accustomed
to chide presidents, monarchs, bosses, bankers,
railway magnates? But it was well paid, and
324 OLD MAN SAVAEIN STOEIES
•seemed only too easy. The young man did not
foresee for himself that benumbing of faculty
which ever punishes the writer who sells his
facility to tasks below his ambition. At worst
"The Blessing" seemed harmless. Nor could
his better nature deny a certain esteem to that
periodical which affectionate multitudes pro-
claimed to be justly named.
Renwick, viewing himself once more as a
recreant breadwinner, cursed his impetuous
humour. But again he took heart from re-
membrance of his engagement by the year, little
suspecting his impotency to hold on where
snubs must be the portion of the unwanted.
Twelve months to turn round in! But after?
What if an editor, already reputed impractical
by "The Reflex" party, should be refused em-
ployment everywhere, after forsaking "The
Blessing" office, in which "positions" were no-
toriously sought or coveted by hundreds of "lit-
erary" aspirants to "soft snaps"? So his veer-
ing imagination whirled round that inferno into
which wage earners descend after hazarding
their livelihood.
From this disquiet he sprang when his door
was emphatically knocked. It opened. Mr.
Durley reappeared with a throng closely re-
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 325
sembling the last, except for one notable wide
lady in street costume of Quakerish gray. Her
countenance seemed to Renwick vaguely fa-
miliar. The fabric and cut of her plain garb
betokened nothing of wealth to the masculine
eye, but were regarded with a degree of awe
by the other ladies present. She appeared ut-
terly American, yet unworldly, in the sense of
seeming neither citified, suburbanish, nor rural.
The experienced placidity of her countenance
reminded Renwick of a familiar composite
photograph of many matrons chosen from
among "The Blessing's" subscribers.
"Her peculiarity is that of the perfect type,"
he pondered while listening to Durley's repeti-
tion of his previous remarks.
At their close, he briskly said : "Mr. Renwick,
Sir, Miss Minnely wishes you to know that
your kind offer is approved. We are now
favoured with the presence of four mothers, six
lady teachers, and a minister of the Gospel."
Renwick flushed. His placard approved!
It promised that he would come forward and
turn round thrice for inspection. Durley had
received instructions to take him at his word!
Suddenly the dilemma touched his facile hu-
mour. Explanation before so many was impos-
326 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
sible. Gravely he approached the visitors, held
out the skirts of his sack coat, turned slowly
thrice, and bowed low at the close.
The large lady nodded with some reserve.
Other spectators clearly regarded the solemnity
as part of "The Blessing's" routine. Mr. Dur-
ley resumed his professional drone :— "We will
now pass on to Room Number Sixteen, and be-
hold Mr. Caliphas C. Cummins in— Ren-
wick's door closed.
Then the large lady, ignoring the attractions
of Mr. Cummins, went to the waiting elevator,
and said "down."
Renwick, again at his desk, tried vainly to
remember of what or whom the placid lady had
reminded him. A suspicion that she might be
Miss Minnely fled before recollection of her
street costume. Still — she might be. If so —
had his solemnly derisive posturing offended
her? She had given no sign. How could he
explain his placard to her? Could he not truly
allege objections to delay of his work by Dur-
ley's frequent interruptions ? He was whirling
with conjecture and indecision when four mea-
sured ticks from a lead pencil came on his outer
door.
There stood Miss Heartly, Acting Manager
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 327
of the Paper Patterns Department. Her light
blue eyes beamed the confidence of one born
trustful, and confirmd in the disposition by
thirty-five years of popularity at home, in
church, in office. In stiff white collar, lilac tie,
trig grey gown, and faint, fading bloom of
countenance, she well represented a notable
latter day American type, the Priestess of
Business, one born and bred as if to endow
office existence with some almost domestic touch
of Puritan nicety. That no man might sanely
hope to disengage Miss Heartly from devotion
to "The Family Blessing" was as if revealed
by her unswerving directness of gaze in speech.
"I have called, Mr. Renwick, by instruction
of the Sole Proprietress. Miss Minnely wishes
me, first, to thank you for this."
It was the placard !
Renwick stared, unable to credit the sincerity
in her face and tone. She must be making
game of him while she spoke in measured links,
as if conscientiously repeating bits each sep-
arately memorized :
"Mr. Renwick— Miss Minnely desires you to
know that she has been rarely more gratified —
than by this evidence — that your self -identifica-
tion with 'The Blessing' — is cordial and com-
328 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
plete. But — Miss Minnely is inclined to hope
— that your thoughtful and kind proposal — of
turning round for inspection — may be — modi-
fied— or improved. For instance — if you
would carefully prepare — of course for revi-
sion by her own taste — a short and eloquent
welcoming discourse — to visitors — that could
be elevated to an attraction — for subscribers—
of that she is almost, though not yet quite, fully
assured. Miss Minnery presumes, Mr. Ren-
wick, that you have had the pleasure of — hear-
ing Mr. Cummins welcome visitors. Of course,
Mr. Renwick, Miss Minnely would not have
asked you — but — as you have volunteered — in
your cordial willingness — that affords her an
opportunity — for the suggestion. But, Mr.
Renwick, if you do not like the idea — then Miss
Minnely would not wish — to pursue the sug-
gestion further." A child glad to have re-
peated its lesson correctly could not have looked
more ingenuous.
In her fair countenance, open as a daybook,
Renwick could detect no guile. Her tone and
figure suggested curiously some flatness, as of
the Paper Patterns of her Department. But
through this mild deputy Miss Minnely must,
he conceived, be deriding him. With what
MISS MINNELY S MANAGEMENT 329
subtlety the messenger had been chosen! It
seemed at once necessary and impossible to ex-
plain his placard to one so guiltless of humour.
"I hoped it might be understood that I did
not intend that placard to be taken literally,
Miss Heartly."
"Not literally!" she seemed bewildered.
"To be pointed at as 'a first class general
purpose editor' is rather too much, don't you
think?"
"I know, Mr. Renwick," she spoke sym-
pathetically. "It sort of got onto your humil-
ity, I presume. But Miss Minnely thinks you
are first class, or she would never have in-
structed Mr. Durley to say first class. That is
cordial to you, and good business — to impress
the visitors, I mean."
"Miss Minnely is very appreciative and kind.
But the point is that I did not engage to be ex-
hibited to flocks of gobemouches."
Miss Heartly pondered the term. "Please,
Mr. Renwick, what are gobemouches ?"
"I should have said The Plain People."
"Perhaps there have been rude ones — not
subscribers," she said anxiously.
"No, all have acted as if reared on 'The
Blessing.' "
330 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
She sighed in relief — then exclaimed in con-
sternation:— "Can Mr. Durley have been—
rude?" She hesitated to pronounce the dire
word.
"Not at all, Miss Heartly. I do not blame
Mr. Durley for exhibiting us as gorillas."
"But how wrong" There was dismay in her
tone. "Miss Minnely has warned him against
the least bit of deception."
"Oh, please, Miss Heartly — I was speaking
figuratively."
Her fair brow slightly wrinkled, her fingers
went nervously to her anxious lips, she looked
perplexed; — "Figuratively! If you would
kindly explain, Mr. Renwick. I am not very
literary."
"Do the ladies of the Paper Patterns
Department like to be exhibited?" he ven-
tured.
"Well, I could not exactly be warranted to
say like' — Scripture has such warnings against
the sinfulness of vanity. But we are, of course,
cordially pleased to see visitors — it is so good
for the Subscription Department."
"I see. And it is not hard on you individu-
ally. There you are, a great roomful of beau-
tiful, dutiful, cordial young ladies. You keep
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 331
one another in countenance. But what if you
were shown each in a separate cage?"
Her face brightened. "Oh, now I under-
stand, Mr. Ren wick! You mean it would be
nicer for the Editors, too, to be seen all to-
gether."
Renwick sighed hopelessly. She spoke on
decisively : "That may be a valuable suggestion,
Mr. Renwick." On her pad she began pencil-
ling shorthand. "Of course I will credit you
with it. Perhaps you do not know that Miss
Minnely always pays well for valuable sug-
gestions." She wrote intently, murmuring:
"But is it practicable? Let me think. Why,
surely practicable! But Miss Minnely will
decide. All partitions on the Editorial Flat
could be removed! Make it cool as Prize
Package or Financial Department!" She
looked up from her paper, glowing with enter-
prise, and pointed her pencil straight at Ren-
wick. "And so impressive!" She swept the
pencil in a broad half circle, seeing her pic-
ture. "Thirty Editors visible at one compre-
hensive glance ! All so literary, and busy, and
intelligent, and cordial! Fine! I take the lib-
erty, temporarily, of calling that a first-class
suggestion, Mr. Renwick. It may be worth
332 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
hundreds to you, if Miss Minnely values it.
It may be forcibly felt in the Subscription List
— if Miss Minnely approves. It may help to
hold many subscribers who try to get away
after the first year. I feel almost sure Miss
Minnely will approve. I am so glad. I
thought something important was going to
come when Miss Minnely considered your pla-
card so carefully."
"But some of the other Editors may not wish
to be exhibited with the whole collection," said
Renwick gravely. "For instance, consider Mr.
Cummins' literary rank. Would it gratify him
to be shown as a mere unit among Editors of
lesser distinction?"
"You are most fore-thoughtful on every
point, Mr. Renwick. That is so fine . But Mr.
Cummins is also most devoted. I feel sure he
would cordially yield, if Miss Minnely ap-
proved. I presume you will wish me to tell her
that you are grateful for her kind message ?"
"Cordially grateful seems more fitting. Miss
Heartly — and I am — especially for her choice
of a deputy."
"Thank you, Mr. Renwick. I will tell her
that, too. And may I say that you will be
pleased to adopt her suggestion that you dis-
MISS MINNELYS MANAGEMENT 333
course a little to visitors, pending possible
changes in this Flat, instead of just coming for-
ward and turning around. Literary men are so
clever — and — ready." He fleetingly suspected
her of derision.
"Please say that I will reflect on Miss Min-
nely's suggestion with an anxious wish to emu-
late, so far as my fallen nature will permit, Miss
Heartly's beautiful devotion to 'The Blessing's'
interests."
"Oh, thank you again, so much, Mr. Ren-
wick." And the fair Priestess of Business
bowed graciously in good bye.
t
III
Renwick sat dazed. From his earliest ac-
quaintance with "The Family Blessing" he had
thought of its famous Editress and Sole Pro-
prietress as one "working a graft" on the Plain
People by consummate sense of the commercial
value of cordial cant. Now he had to conceive
of her as perfectly ingenuous. Had she really
taken his placard as one written in good faith?
He remembered its sentences clearly :
"When the editor in this compartment is to be
exhibited, please notify him by knocking on this door
before opening it. He will then rise from his sitting
334 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
posture, come forward for inspection, and turn slowly
around three times if a school teacher, a mother, or a
minister of the Gospel be among the visiting sub-
scribers."
Miss Minnely took that for sincere ! Ren wick
began to regard "The Blessing" as an emana-
tion of a soul so simple as to be incapable of
recognizing the diabolic element, derision. He
was conceiving a tenderness for the honesty
which could read his placard as one of sincerity.
How blessed must be hearts innocent of mock-
ery! Why should he not gratify them by dis-
coursing to visiting subscribers? The idea
tickled his fancy. At least he might amuse
himself by writing what would edify Durley's
parties if delivered with gravity. He might
make material of some of Miss Minnely's
voluminous letters of instruction to himself.
From his pigeon-hole he drew that file, in-
spected it rapidly, laughed, and culled as he
wrote.
Twenty minutes later he was chuckling over
the effusion, after having once read its solem-
nities aloud to himself.
"Hang me if I don't try it on Durley's next
party!" he was telling himself, when pencil
tickings, like small woodpecker tappings,
MISS MINNELYS MANAGEMENT 335
came again on his outer door. "Miss Heartly
back ! I will treat her to it !" and he opened the
door, discourse in hand.
There stood the wide, wise-eyed, placid,
gray-clad lady!
"I am Miss Minnely, Mr. Renwick. Very
pleased to introduce myself to a gentleman
whose suggestion has pleased me deeply." Her
wooly voice was as if steeped in a syrup of
cordial powers. Suddenly he knew she had
reminded him of Miss Pue's gigantic bronze
Beneficence.
"Thank you, Miss Minnely. I feel truly
honoured." Renwick, with some concealed tre-
pidation, bowed her to his revolving chair.
"Mr. Renwick." She disposed her ampli-
tude comfortably; then streamed on genially
and authoritatively, "You may be gratified to
learn that I was pleased — on the whole — by
your cordial demeanour while — er — revolving
—not long ago — on the occasion of Mr. Dur-
ley's last visiting party. Only — you will per-
mit me to say this in all kindness — I did not
regard the — the display of — er — form — as pre-
cisely adapted. Otherwise your appearance,
tone, and manner were eminently suitable —
indeed such as mark you strongly, Mr. Ren-
336 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
wick, as conforming — almost — to my highest
ideal for the conduct of Editors of 'The Bless-
ing.' Consequently I deputed Miss Heartly—
with a suggestion. She has informed me of
your cordial willingness, Mr. Renwick — hence
I am here to thank you again — and instruct.
Your short discourse to visitors will — let me
explain — not only edify, but have the effect of,
as it were, obviating any necessity for the — er
— revolving — and the display of — er — form.
Now, you are doubtless aware that I invariably
edit, so to speak, every single thing done on be-
half of our precious 'Family Blessing.' For
due performance of that paramount duty I
must give account hereafter. My peculiar gift
is Taste — you will understand that I mention
this fact with no more personal vanity that if
I mentioned that I have a voice, hands, teeth, or
any other endowment from my Creator — our
Creator, in fact. Taste — true sense of what
our subscribers like on their higher plane. My
great gift must be entitled to direct what we
say to visitors, just as it directs what 'The
Blessing' publishes on its story pages, its edi-
torial columns, its advertisements, letter heads,
everything of every kind done in 'The Bless-
ing's' name. I am thorough. And so, Mr.
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 337
Renwick, I desire to hear your discourse be-
forehand. What ? You have already prepared
it? Excellent! Promptitude — there are few
greater business virtues ! We will immediately
use your draft as a basis for further consulta-
tion."
So imposing was her amiable demeanour that
Renwick had no wish but to comply. He
glanced over what he had written, feeling now
sure that its mock gravity would seem nowise
sardonic to Miss Minnely.
"In preparing these few words," he re-
marked, "I have borrowed liberally from your
notes of instruction to me, Miss Minnely."
"Very judicious. Pray give me the plea-
sure."
He tendered the draft.
"But no, please deliver it." She put away
the paper. Suppose me to be a party of our
de-ar visiting subscribers. I will stand here,
you there. Now do not hesitate to be audible,
Mr. Renwick." She beamed as a Brobdig-
nagian child at a new game.
Renwick, quick to all humours, took position,
and began with unction: "Dear friends, dear
visitors "
She interrupted amiably: — "De-ar friends,
338 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
de-ar visitors. Make two syllables of the de-ar.
The lingering is cordial in effect. I have ob-
served that carefully — de-ar softens hearts.
Dwell on the word — dee-ar — thus you will
cause a sense of affectionate regard to cling to
visitors' memories of 'The Blessing's' editorial
staff. You understand, Mr. Renwick?"
He began again: "De-ar friends, de-ar vis-
itors, de-ar mothers, de-ar teachers," but again
she gently expostulated, holding up a fat hand
to stop his voice.
"Please, Mr. Renwick — no, I think not — it
might seem invidious to discriminate by speci-
fying some before others. All alike are our
de-ar friends and visitors."
"De-ar friends, de-ar visitors," Renwick cor-
rected his paper, "I cannot hope to express ade-
quately to you my feelings of delight in being
introduced to your notice as a first class general
purpose editor, and eminent authority on
She graciously interposed: — "It might be
well to pencil this in, Mr. Renwick, 'introduced
to you by our de-ar colleague, Mr. Durley, the
most experienced of our guides to the "Family
Blessing" Building, as general purpose editor,
etc.' That would impress, as hinting at our
corps of guides, besides uplifting the rank of
MISS MINNELY S MANAGEMENT 339
our valued colleague, Mr. Durley, and by con-
sequence 'The Blessing,' through the respectful
mention made of one of our more humble em-
ployees. Elevate the lowly, and you elevate
all the superior classes — that is a sound Amer-
ican maxim. In business it is by such fine at-
tention to detail that hearts and therefore sub-
scribers are won. But, Mr. Renwick, nothing
could be better than your 'I cannot hope to ex-
press adequately my feelings of delight,' etc. —
that signifies cordial emotion — it is very good
business, indeed."
Sincerity was unclouded in her gaze. He
pencilled in her amendment, and read on: —
"and eminent authority on water amusements
of a character to build up character in first-class
respectable American families."
"Very good — I drilled Mr. Durley in that,"
she put in complacently.
"Dear friends," he resumed.
"De-ar," she reminded him.
"De-ar friends, you may naturally desire to
be informed of the nature of the duties of a
general purpose editor, therefore "
"Let me suggest again, Mr. Renwick.
Better say 'Dear friends, closely associated with
"The Family Blessing," as all must feel who
340 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
share the privilege of maintaining it, you will
naturally desire to be informed/ etc. Don't
you agree, Mr. Ren wick? It is well to neglect
no opportunity for deepening the sense of our
de-ar subscribers that the 'Blessing' is a priv-
ilege to their households. I do everything pos-
sible to make our beloved ones feel that they
own 'The Blessing,' as in the highest sense
they do. They like that. It is remunerative,
also."
Renwick jotted in the improvement, and
read on: "A general purpose editor of 'The
Blessing' is simply one charged with promoting
the general purpose of 'The Blessing.' To ex-
plain what that is I cannot do better than em-
ploy the words of the Sole Proprietress, Miss
Minnely herself, and ."
The lady suggested, " I cannot do so well as
to employ the words of — it is always effective
to speak most respectfully of the absent Pro-
prietress— that touches their imagination fa-
vourably. It is good business."
"I appreciate it, Miss Minnely. And now I
venture to adapt, verbatim, parts of your notes
to me."
"It was forethoughtful to preserve them, Mr.
Renwick. I am cordially pleased."
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 341
He read on more oratorically : — "De-ar
friends, 'The Blessing' has a Mission, and to
fulfil that Mission it must, first of all, enter-
tain its subscribers on their higher plane. This
cannot be done by stimulating in them any
latent taste for coarse and inelegant laughter,
but by furnishing entertainingly the whole-
some food from which mental pabulum is ab-
sorbed and mental growth accomplished."
"Excellent! My very own words."
"The varieties of this entertaining pabulum
must be conscientiously prepared, and admin-
istered in small quantities so that each can be
assimilated unconsciously by Youth and Age
without mental mastication. Mind is not Char-
acter, and "
"How true. Character-building publica-
tions must never be addressed to mere Mind/'
"The uplifting of the Mind, or Intellect,"
Renwick read on, "is not the general purpose
of 'The Family Blessing.' It is by the Liter-
ature of the Heart that Character is uplifted.
Therefore a general purpose editor of 'The
Blessing' must ever seek to maintain and to pre-
sent the truly cordial. That is what most
widely attracts and pleases all these sections of
the great American people who are uncor-
342 OLD MAN SAVAKIN STOKIES
rupted by worldly and literary associations
which tend to canker the Soul with cynicism."
"I remember my glow of heart in writing
those inspiring, blessed, and inspired words!"
she exclaimed. "Moreover, they are true.
Now, I think that is about enough, Mr. Ren-
wick. Visitors should never be too long de-
tained by a single attraction. Let me advise
you to memorize the discourse carefully. It is
cordial. It is impressive. It is informative of
'The Blessing's' ideal. It utters my own
thoughts in my own language. It is admirably
adapted to hold former subscribers, and to con-
firm new. All is well." She pondered silently
a few moments. "Now, Mr. Renwick, I would
be strictly just. The fact that an editor, and
one of those not long gathered to our happy
company, has suggested and devoted himself
to this novel attraction, will have noblest effect
in rousing our colleagues of every Department
to emulative exertion. Once more, I thank you
cordially. But the Sole Proprietress of the re-
munerative 'Blessing' holds her place in trust
for all colleagues, and she is not disposed to
retire with mere thanks to one who has identi-
fied himself so effectually with her and its
ideals. Mr. Renwick, your honorarium — your
MISS MINNELY'S MANAGEMENT 343
weekly pay envelope," again she paused reflec-
tively, "it will hereafter rank you with our very
valued colleague, Mr. Caliphas C. Cummins
himself! No — no-no, Mr. Ren wick — do not
thank me — thank your happy inspiration —
thank your cordial devotion — thank your Taste
— thank your natural, innate identification, in
high ideals, with me and 'The Family Bless-
ing.' As for me — it is for me to thank you —
and I do so, again, cordially, cordially, cor-
dially !" She beamed, the broad embodiment of
Beneficence, in going out of the room.
Renwick long stared, as one dazed, at the
story of "The Converted Ringmaster." It re-
lated in minute detail the sudden reformation
of that sinful official. The account of his rapid
change seemed no longer improbable nor maw-
kish. Any revolution in any mind might occur,
since his own had been so swiftly hypnotized
into sympathy with Miss Minnely and her
emanation "The Blessing." How generous she
was ! Grateful mist was in his eyes, emotion for
the safety of the widows and the orphan whose
bread he must win.
Yet the derisive demon which sat always
close to his too sophisticated heart was already
gibing him afresh: — "You stand engaged," it
344 OLD MAN SAVARIN STORIES
sneered, "as assistant ringmaster to Durley's
exhibition of yourself!"
New perception of Miss Minnely and Miss
Heartly rose in his mind. Could mortal women
be really as simple as those two ladies had
seemed? Might it not be they had managed
him with an irony as profound as the ingenu-
ousness they had appeared to evince?
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